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SAXE'S POEMS 
Cabtim Coition 



I 



THE POETICAL 
WORKS OF 

JOHN GODFREY 
SAXE 



Cabinet (BUitton 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

0)z IMtmite j^rejs, Cambnbge 



MDCCCC 




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-^Z&D 



Copyright, 1859, 1861, 1866, 1868, 1872, and 1873, 

By JOUN G. SAXE, TICKNOR & FIELDS, an© 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 

Copyright, 1887, and 1889, 
iJT CHARLES G. SAXE. 



By Exchange 
Army and Navy Club 
JANUARY 16 1934 



JTie Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A, 
Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Company. 



CONTENTS. 



— ♦— 

Page 
POEMS. 

The Poet's License 1 

Treasure in Heaven 1 

I 'm Growing Old 2 

The Story or Life 3 

My Castle in Spain 3 

Spes est Vates 4 

The Gifts of the Gods 4 

The Old Chapel-Bell 5 

Compensation 7 

The Old Man's Motto 8 

Maximilian 8 

Wishing 9 

The Way of the World . .10 

A Poet's Elegy 10 

The Mourner a la Mode 11 

The Expected Ship 12 

The Head and the Heart 13 

The Proud Miss MacBride 13 

The Masquerade 19 

My Familiar 33 

Love and Law 24 

Rhyme of the Rail 26 

The Briefless Barrister , 27 

Little Jerry, the Miller 28 

How Cyrus laid the Cable 29 

What has become of the Gods 30 

The Cold-Water Man 33 



vi CONTENTS. 

Comic Misekies 38 

A Connubial Eclogue 34 

Some Pencil-Pictures 35 

Boys 37 

The Superfluous Man . 37 

TouJouRs LES Temmes . . .38 

Girlhood 39 

The Cockney 39 

Captain Jones's Misadventure 40 

Miralda 46 

Le Jardin Mabille 49 

The Beauty ok Ballston 50 

When I mean to marry 52 

A Reflective Retrospect 53 

The Knowing Child • . . . . 53 

Ideal and Real 54 

The Game of Life 55 

The Puzzled Census-Taker 56 

The Heart and the Liver 57 

About Husbands 58 

Where there 's a Will there 's a Way 58 

A Benedict's Appeal to a Bachelor 59 

The Ghost-Player 61 

"Do YOU think he is married?" 61 

A College Reminiscence 62 

Early Rising 63 

The Lady Ann 64 

How THE Money goes 65 

Saint Jonathan 66 

Song of Saratoga 67 

Tale of a Dog 68 

The Jolly Mariner 70 

Tom Brown's Day in Gotham 71 

Ye Tailyor-Man 76 

The Devil of Names 76 

Ye Pedagogue 79 

The Stammering Wife 80 

A Rhymed Epistle 80 

Town and Country 82 

The Family Man 84 

The Snake in the Glass 84 



CONTENTS. y'u 

Ne Crede CoLORi 85 

Clara to Cloe 86 

Cloe to Clara 87 

The Great Magician 88 

The Blarney Stone 89 

Ode to the Prince of Wales 90 

Mothers-in-Law 91 

Nil Admirari 93 

The Coquette 93 

Carmen L^tum 93 

My Boyhood 97 

Post-Prandial Verses 97 

The Silver Wedding 98 

Looking out into the Night 99 

The Old Year and the New 100 

De Musa 100 

Augusta 101 

Roger Bontemps 101 

The King of Normandy 102 

The Hunter and the Milkmaid 103 

The Poet to his Garret 104 

The Dinner 104 

Fools Incorrigible 105 

The Best of Husbands 106 



LOVE POEMS. 

Wouldn't you like to know? 109 

The Lover's Vision , . . . 109 

The Oath 110 

Unrest 110 

To my Love Ill 

To Lesbia Ill 

My Saxon Blonde 113 

Darling, tell me yes 113 

Time and Love 113 

Love's Calendar 114 

The Lawyer's Valentine 114 

A Reasonable Petition 115 

The Chapel of Two Saints 115 



viii CONTENTS. 

The Little Maid and the Lawyer 116 

Dkinking Song . 116 

Ego et Echo 117 

The Maiden to the Moon 118 

Daisy Day 118 

A Summer Scene 119 

To a Beautiful Stranger 119 

Hercules spinning 120 

How it happened 120 

ExAUDi Angelus 121 

Carl and I 121 

Do I LOVE thee ? 122 

The Lover's Confession 122 

A Philosophical Query 122 

Lip-Service •....., 123 



FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND APOLOGUES. 

Father Pumpkin; or. Always in Luck 127 

The King and the Cottager 131 

The Youth and the North-Wind 133 

The Blind Men and the Elephant 135 

The Treasure of Gold 136 

The Nobleman, the Fisherman, and the Porter .... 139 

The Dervis and the King 141 

The Monarch and the Marquis 143 

The Caliph and the Cripple 144 

The Ugly Aunt 146 

The Three Gifts 148 

The Wife's Revenge 151 

The Dervis and his Enemies 154 

Rampsinitus and the Robbers . 156 

Poor Tartar 159 

The Four Misfortunes 160 

The Wandering Jew 162 

The Three Good Days 164 

The Story of Echo 165 

A Case of Conscience 166 

The Origin of Wine 167 

The Parrot of Nevers 168 



CONTENTS. ix 

King Solomon and the Bees I73 

The Pious Brahmin and his Neighboks I75 

The Romance of Nick Van Stann I76 

The Fisherman and the Flounder I77 

How the Raven became Black 180 

Death and Cupid . ■ 181 

Love and Lucre 182 

Wisdom and Cunning 183 

The Sultan and the Owls . I8I, 

The Pin and the Needle 185 

Ben-Ammi and the Fairies 186 

The Discontented Water-Carrier 188 

The Miller and his Advisers 191 

MURILLO AND HIS SlAVE 193 

Hassan and the Angel 193 



FABLES AND LEGENDS OF MANY COUNTRIES. 

Love and Joy 199 

The two Church-Builders 200 

The Wind and the Rose 201 

The Beacon-Light 203 

King Eric's Triumph 203 

The Brahmin's Air-Castle 204 

Reason and Vanity 205 

Who shall shut the Door? 206 

How it Chanced 206 

The three Masks 208 

The Ghost in Armor 209 

The King and the Peasant 211 

The Traveller and his Friends 213 

The King's Favorite 213 

The Merchant 215 

The Force of Example 216 

The Sheriff of Saumur 216 

The two Wallets 217 

The Great Crab 218 

Love and Folly 219 

I/OVE Omnipotent 220 

The Philosopher and the Rustic 221 



X CONTENTS. 

The Gardener and the King 223 

The Vision of the Faxtheul 223 

The Fairies' Guts 224 

The Old General and his King 224 

Saint Verena and Satan 225 

The Spell of Circe 226 

The two Graves 227 

King Pyrrhus and his Counsellor 228 

The Farmer who made his own Weather 229 

The Proxy Saint 230 

The two Wishes 230 

The Traveller and the Tempest 230 

Past, Future, and Present 231 



SATIRES. 



Progress . 
The Money-King 



EXCERPTS FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

• 

El Dorado 257 

The Good Time Coming 257 

The Power-Press 258 

The Library 258 

The News 259 



The Editor's Sanctum 



TRAVESTIES. 

Icarus 265 

Pyramus and Thisbe 267 

The Choice of King Midas 269 

Phaethon 270 

Polyphemus and Ulysses . 272 

Orpheus and Eurydice 274 

Jupiter and Danae 276 

Venus and Vulcan 277 



I 



CONTENTS. xi 

Richard op Glosteb 278 

Othello, the Mooa 281 



SONNETS. 

Three Loves 287 

My Queen 287 

"With my Body I thee worship" 288 

Pan Immortal 288 

The Beautiful 288 

Bereavement 289 

To my Wife on her Birthday 289 

To Spring 289 

The Victim 290 

To 290 

To a Clam 290 

The Portrait 291 

Somewhere 291 

Change not Loss 292 

A LA Pensee 292 

Absence 292 

BlENVENUE 293 

Miserere 293 

AqUINAS AND THE BiSHOP 293 



EPIGRAMS. 

The Explanation 297 

Family Quarrels 297 

Teaching by Example 297 

A Common Alternative 297 

A Plain Case 297 

Over-Candid 298 

Never too late to mend 298 

An Equivocal Apology 298 

On an Ill-read Lawyer 298 

On a Recent Classic Controversy 298 

lucus a non 299 

A Candid Candidate 299 



xii CONTENTS. 

Nemo repente turpissimus 899 

Too Candid by Half 299 

conjuegium non conjugium 299 

Cheap Enough 300 

On an Ugly Person sitting tor a Daguerreotype . . . . " . 300 

On a Famous Water-Suit . 300 

Kissing Casuistry 300 

To a Poetical Correspondent 300 

On a Long-winded Orator 800 

The Lost Character 300 

A Dilemma 801 

The Three Wiyes 301 



NOTES 



POEMS/ 



POEMS, 



THE POET'S LICENSE. 

The Poet's License ! — Some there 
are 

Who hold the false opinion 
'T is but a meagre privilege 

Confined to Art's dominion; 
The right to rhyme quite unre- 
strained 

By certain rigid fetters 
Which bind the colder men of prose 

Within the realm of letters. 

Ah no ! — I deem 't is something 
more, 
And something vastly higher, 
To which the proudest bard on 
earth 
May worthily aspire. 
The Poet's License! — 'tis the 
right, 
Within the rule of duty, 
To look on all delightful things 
Throughout the world of beauty. 

To gaze with rapture at the stars 

That in the skies are glowing; 
To see the gems of perfect dye 

That in the woods are grow- 
ing, — 
And more than sage astronomer. 

And more than learned florist, 
To read the glorious homilies 

Of Firmament and Forest. 

When Nature gives a gorgeous rose, 
Or yields the simplest fern, 



She writes this motto on the 
leaves, — 

" To whom it may concern ! " 
And so it is the poet comes 

And revels in her bowers, 
And, though another hold the land, 

Is owner of the flowers. 

0, nevermore let Ignorance 

With heedless iteration 
Repeat the phrase as meaning 
aught 

Of trivial estimation ; 
The Poet's License ! — 't is the fee 

Of earth and sky and river 
To him who views them royally, 

To have and hold forever ! 



TREASURE IN HEAVEN. 

RESPECTFUIXT DEDICATED TO GEORG£ 
PEABODY, ESQ. 

" What I spent, I had ; what I left, 
I lost ; what I gave, I have I " 

OLD EPITAPH. 



Every coin of earthly treasure 

We have lavished, upon earth, 
For our simple worldly pleasure. 
May be reckoned something 
worth ; 
For the spending was not losing. 
Though the purchase were out 
small ; 



rM GROWING OLD. 



It has perished with the using : 
We have had it, — that is all ! 



All the gold we leave behind us 

When we turn to dust again 
{ Though our avarice may blind us), 

We have gathered quite in vain ; 
Since we neither can direct it, 

By the winds of fortune tossed, 
Nor in other worlds expect it : 

What we hoarded, we have lost. 



But each merciful oblation — 

(Seed of pity wisely sown), 
What we gave in self-negation, 

We may safely call our own ; 
For the treasure freely given 

Is the treasure that we hoard. 
Since the angels keep in Heaven 

What is lent unto the Lord ! 



I'M GROWING OLD. 

My days pass pleasantly away ; 
My nights are blest with sweetest 



I feel no symptoms of decay ; 
I have no cause to mourn nor 
weep; 
My foes are impotent and shy-, 
My friends are neither false nor 
cold, 
And yet, of late, I often sigh, — 
I 'm growing old I 

My growing talk of olden times, 
My growing thirst for early 
news. 
My growing apathy to rhymes. 

My growing love of easy shoes, 

My growing hate of crowds and 

noise. 

My growing fear of taking cold. 

All whisper, in the plainest voice, 

I 'm growing old! 



I 'm growing fonder of my staflf; 

I 'm growing dimmer in the eyes ; 

I 'm growing fainter in my laugh; 

I 'm growing deeper in my sighs ; 

I'm growing careless of my dress; 

I 'm growing frugal of my gold; 

I 'm growing wise ; I 'm growing, — 

yes, — 

I 'm growing old! 

I see it in my changing taste ; 

I see it in my changing hair; 
I see it in my growing waist; 
I see it in my growing heir ; 
A thousand signs proclaim the 
truth. 
As plain as truth was ever told, 
That, even in my vaunted youth, 
T'm growing old! 

Ah me ! my very laurels breathe 
The tale in my reluctant ears, 
And every boon the Hours be- 
queath 
But makes me debtor to the 
Years ! 
E'en Flattery's honeyed words de- 
clare 
The secret she would fain with- 
hold, 
And tells me in " How young you 
are! " 

I 'm growing old! 

Thanks for the years ! — whose 



rapid flight 
eMu 

light 



My sombre Muse too sadlv sings ; 
Thanks for the gleams of golden 



That tint the darkness of their 
wings ; 
The light that beams from out the 
sky, 
Those heavenly mansions to un- 
fold 
Where all are blest, and none may 
sigh, 

" I 'm growing old ! " 



MY CASTLE IN SPAIN-. 



3 



THE STORY OF LIFE. 

Say, what is life ! 'T is to be born; 
A helpless Babe, to greet the 
light 
With a sharp wail, as if the morn 
Foretold a cloudy noon and 
night; 
To weep, to sleep, and weep again, 
With sunny smiles between; and 
then"? 

And then apace the infant grows 
To be a laughing, puling boy, 

Happy, despite his little Avoes, 
Were he but conscious of his joy ; 

To be, in short, from two to ten, 

A merry, moody Child; and then? 

And then, in coat and trousers clad. 
To learn to say the Decalogue, 

And break it; an unthinking Xat/, 
With mirth and mischief all 
agog ; 

A truant oft by field and fen 

To capture butterflies ; and then ? 

And then, increased in strength and 
size, 

To be, anon, a Youth full-grown ; 
A hero in his mother's eyes, 

A young Apollo in his own ; 
To imitate the ways of men 
In fashionable sins ; and then ? 

And then, at last, to be a Man ; 

To fall in love ; to woo and wed ; 

With seething brain to scheme and 

plan; 

To gather gold, or toil for bread ; 

To sue for fame with tongue or pen. 

And gain or lose the pi'ize; and 

then? 

And then in gray and wrinkled Eld 
To mourn the speed of life's de- 
cline : 



To praise the scenes his youth be- 
held. 
And dwell in memory of Lang- 
Syne ; 

To dream awhile with darkened 
ken. 

Then drop into his grave; and 
then? 



MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. 

There 's a castle in Spain, very 
charming to see, 
Though built without money or 
toil; 

Of this handsome estate I am owner 
in fee. 
And paramount lord of the soil ; 

And oft as I may I 'm accustomed 
to go 

And live, like a king, in my Span- 
ish Chateau! 

There 's a dame most bewitchingly 
rounded and ripe. 
Whose wishes are never absurd; 

Who does n't object to my smoking 
a pipe, 
Nor insist on the ultimate word; 

In short, she 's the pink of perfec- 
tion, you know; 

And she lives, like a queen, in my 
Spanish Chateau ! 

I ' ve a family too ; the delightfulest 
girls. 
And a bevy of beautiful bovs; 

All quite the reverse of those juve- 
nile churls 
Whose pleasure is mischief and 
noise; 

No modern Cornelia might venture 
to show 

Such iewels as those in my Spanish 
Chateau ! 



THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. 



I have servants who seek their 

contentment in mine, 
And always mind what they are 

at; 
Who never embezzle the sugar and 

wine, 
And slander the innocent cat ; 
Neither saucy, nor careless, nor 

stupidly slow 
Are the servants who wait in my 

Spanish Chateau I 

I have pleasant companions ; most 
affable folk, 
And each with the heart of a 
brother ; 

Keen wits, who enjoy an antago- 
nist's joke, 
And beauties who 're fond of 
each other ; 

Such people, indeed, as you never 
may know. 

Unless you should come to my 
Spanish Chateau ! 

I have friends, whose commission 

for wearing the name 

In kindness unfailing is shown ; 

Who pay to another the duty they 

claim, 
And deem his successes their 

own; 
Who joy in his gladness, and weep 

at his woe ; 
You '11 find them (where else?) in 

my Spanish Chateau ! 



••'0 



I oftentimes 



SI SIC semper. 
say 
(Though 't is idle, I know, to 
complain), 
To think that again I must force 
me away 
From my beautiful castle in 
Spain ! 
Ah ! would that my stars had de- 
termined it so 
I might live the year round in my 
Spanish Chateau ! 



SPES EST VATES. 

There is a saying of the ancient 

sages: 
No noble human thought. 
However buried in the dust of 

ages. 
Can ever come to naught. 

With kindred faith, that knows no 
base dejection. 

Beyond the sages' scope 
I see, afar, the final resurrection 

Of every glorious hope. 

I see, as parcel of a new creation, 

The beatific hour 
When every bud of lofty aspiration 

Shall blossom into flower. 

We are not mocked ; it was not in 
derision 
God made our spirits free ; 
The poet's dreams are but the dim 
prevision 
Of blessings that shall be, — 

When they who lovingly have 
hoped and trusted, 
Despite some transient fears. 
Shall see Life's jarring elements 
adjusted. 
And rounded into spheres ! 



THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. 

The saying is wise, though it 
sounds like a jest. 
That " The gods don't allow us 
to be in their debt," 
For though we may think we are 
specially blest, 
We are certain to pay for the 
favors we get ! 



THE OLD CHAPEIj-BELL. 



kvQ Riches the boon? Nay, be 
not elate ; 
The final account is n't settled 
as yet; 
Old Care has a mortgage on every 
estate, 
And that 's what you pay for the 
wealth that you get ! 

Is Honor the prize ? It were easy 
to name 
What sorrows and perils her 
pathway beset; 
Grim Hate and Detraction accom- 
pany Fame, 
And that 's what you pay for 
the honor you get! 

Is Learning a treasure? How 
charming the pair 
When Talent and Culture are 
lovingly met; 
But Labor unceasing is grievous 
to beai*, 
And that 's what you pay for 
the learning you get! 

Is Genius worth having? There 
isn't a doubt; 
And yet what a price on the 
blessing is set, — 
To suffer more with it than dunces 
without, 
Andthat 's what you pay for the 
genius you get ! 

Is Beauty a blessing? To have it 
for nought 
The gods never grant to their 
veriest pet ; 
Pale Envy reminds you the jewel 
is bought. 
And that 's what you pay for 
the beauty you get ! 

But Pleasure ? Alas ! — how pro- 
lific of pain! 
Gay Pleasure is followed by 
gloomy Regret ; 



And often Repentance is one of 
her train. 
And that 's what you pay for 
the pleasure you get ! 

But surely in Friendship we all 
may secure 
An excellent gift; never doubt 
it, — and yet 
With much to enjoy there is much 
to endure, 
And that 's what we pay for the 
friendship we get ! 

But then there is Love ? — Nay, 
speak not too soon ; 
The fondest of hearts may have 
reason to fret ; 
For Fear and Bereavement attend 
on the boon, 
And that 's what we pay for the 
love that we get ! 

And thus it appears — though it 
sounds like a jest — 
The gods don't allow us to be in 
their debt; 
And though we may think we are 
specially blest, 
We are certain to pay for what- 
ever we get ! 



THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. 

A BALLAD. 

Within a churchyard's sacred 
ground. 
Whose fading tablets tell 
Where they who built the village 
church 
In solemn silence dwell, 
Half hidden in the earth, there lies 
An ancient Chapel-Bell. 

Broken, decayed, and covered o'er 
With mouldering leaves and 
rust; 



6 



THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. 



Its very name and date concealed 
Beneath a cankering crust ; 

Forgotten, — like its early friends, 
Who sleep in neighboring dust. 

Yet it was once a trusty Bell, 

Of most sonorous lung, 
And many a joyous wedding-peal, 

And many a knell had rung, 
Ere Time had cracked its brazen 
sides. 

And broke its iron tongue. 

And many a youthful heart had 
danced. 
In merry Christmas-time, 
To hear its pleasant roundelay, 

Sung out in ringing rhyme ; 
And many a worldly thought been 
checked 
To list its sabbath chime. 

A youth — a bright and happy 
boy — 

One sultry summer's day, 
Aweary of his bat and ball. 

Chanced hitherward to stray, 
To read a little book he had, 

And rest him from his play. 

"A soft and shady spot is this! " 
The rosy youngster cried. 

And sat him down, beneath a tree, 
That ancient Bell beside; 

(But, hidden in the tangled grass, 
The Bell he ne'er espied.) 

Anon, a mist fell on his book. 
The letters seemed to stir. 

And though, full oft, his flagging 
sight 
The boy essayed to spur. 

The mazy page was quickly lost 
Beneath a cloudy blur. 

And while he marvelled much at 
this, 
And wondered how it came, 



He felt a languor creeping o'er 
His young and weary frame. 

And heard a voice, a gentle voice^ 
That plainly spoke his name. 

That gentle voice that named his 
name 

Entranced him like a spell 
Upon his ear so very near 

And suddenly it fell, 
Yet soft and musical, as 't were 

The whisper of a bell. 

" Since last I spoke," the voice 
began, 

" Seems many a dreary year! 
(Albeit, 't is only since thy birth 

I 've lain neglected here ! ) 
Pray list, while I rehearse a tale 

Behooves thee much to hear. 

" Once, from yon ivied tower, I 
watched 
The villagers around. 
And gave to all their joys and 
griefs 
A sympathetic sound, — 
But most are sleeping, now, within 
This consecrated ground. 

" I used to ring my merriest peal 
To hail the blushing bride ; 

I sadly tolled for men cut down 
In strength and manly pride ; 

And solemnly, — not mournful- 
ly.— 
When little children died. 

*' But, chief, my duty was to bid 

The villagers repair. 
On each returning sabbath morn 

Unto the House of Prayer, 
And in his own appointed place 

The Saviour's mercy share. 

"Ah ! well I mind me of a child, 
A gleesome, happy maid, 



COMPENSATION. 



Who came, with constant step, to 
church, 

In comely garb arrayed. 
And knelt her down full solemnly. 

And penitently prayed. 

" And oft, when church was done, 
I marked 
That little maiden near 
This pleasant spot, with book in 
hand. 
As you are sitting here, — 
She read the Story of the Cross, 
And wept with grief sincere. 

" Years rolled away, — and I be- 
held 
The child to woman grown ; 
Her cheek was fairer, and her eye 

With brighter lustre shone ; 
But childhood's truth and inno- 
cence 
Were still the maiden's own. 

*' I never rang a merrier peal 
Than when, a joyous bride, 
She stood beneath the sacred 
porch, 
A noble youth beside. 
And plighted him her maiden 
troth. 
In maiden love and pride. 

" I never tolled a deeper knell, 

Than when, in after years, 
They laid her in the churchyard 
here. 
Where this low mound ap- 
pears, — 
(The very grave, my boy, that 
you 
Are watering now with tears ! ) 

" It is thy mother ! gentle boy. 
That claims this tale of mine, — 

Thou art a flower whose fatal 
birth 
Destroyed the parent vine ! 



A precious flower art thou, my 
child, — 

Two LIVES WERE GIVEN FOR 
THINE ! 

" One was thy sainted mother's, 
when 
She gave thee mortal birth ; 
And one thy Saviour's, when in 
death 
He shook the solid earth ; 
Go ! boy, and live as may befit 
Thy life's exceeding worth! " 

The boy awoke, as from a dream, 
And,'thoughtful, looked around, 

But nothing saw, save at his feet 
His mother's lowly mound. 

And by its side that' ancient Bell, 
Half hidden in the ground ! 



COMPENSATION. 



When once, in " Merrie England," 

A prisoner of state 
Stood waiting death or exile, 

Submissive to his fate, 
He made this famous answer. ^- 
" Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, hrevis ; 

Go tell your tyrant chief. 
Long pains are light ones, 

Cruel ones are brief! '* 



Alas ! we all are culprits ; 

Our bodies doomed to bear 
Discomforts and diseases. 

And none may 'scape his share; 
But God in pity orders. 
Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, brevis ; 

He grants us this relief. 
Long pains are light ones, 

Cruel ones are brief. 



MAXIMILIAN. 



Nor less the mind must suffer 

Its weight of care and woe, 
Afflictions and bereavements 

Itself can only know ; 
But let us still remember, 
Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, brevis ; 

To moderate our grief, — 
Long pains are light ones, 

Cruel ones are brief. 



THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. 
" Give me a motto ! " said a youth 
To one whom years had rendered 
wise; 
" Some pleasant thought, or 
weighty truth, 
That briefest syllables comprise ; 
Some word of warning or of cheer 
To grave upon my signet here. 
"And, reverend father," said the 

boy, 
"Since life, they say, is ever made 
A mingled web of grief and joy ; 
Since cares may come and pleas- 
ures fade, — 
Pray, let the motto have a range 
Of meaning matching every 

change. " 
" Sooth ! " said the sire, " methinks 
you ask 
A labor something over-nice. 
That well a finer brain might 
task. 
What think you, lad, of this de- 
vice 
(Older than I, though I am gray), 
♦T is simple, — ' This will pass 

away ' ? 
**When wafted on by Fortune's 
breeze, 
In endless peace thou seem' st to 
glide, 



Prepare betimes for rougher seas, 
And check the boast of foolish 
pride ; 
Though smiling joy is thine to-day, 
Remember, ' This will pass away !' 

"When all the sky is draped 

in black. 
And, beaten by tempestuous 

gales. 
Thy shuddering ship seems all 

a-wrack, 
Then trim again thy tattered 

sails ; 
To grim Despair be not a prey ; 
Bethink thee, ' This will pass 

away ! ' 

"Thus, my son, be not o'er- 

proud. 
Nor yet cast down; judge thou 

aright ; 
When skies are clear, expect the 

cloud; 
In darkness, wait the coming 

light; 
Whatever be thy fate to-day. 
Remember, ' This will pass 

away! ' " 



MAXIMILIAN. 

Not with a craven spirit he 
Submitted to the harsh decree 
That bade him die before his time, 
Cut off in manhood's goldeu 
prime, — 

Poor Maximilian ! 

And some who marked his noble 

mien, 
His dauntless heart, his soul serene, 
Have deemed they saw a martyr 

die. 
And chorused forth the solemn cry, 
" Great Maximilian 1 " 



WISHING. 



Alas ! Ambition was his sin ; 
He staked his life a throne to 

win; 
Counted amiss the fearful cost 
(As chiefs have done before), — 

and lost ! 

Rash Maximilian ! 

'T is not the victim's tragic fate, 
Nor calm endurance, makes him 

great ; 
Mere lust of empire and renown 
Can never claim the martyr's 

crown, 

Brave Maximilian ! 

Alas ! it fell, that, in thy aim 

To win a sovereign's jpower and 

fame, 
Thy better nature lost its force, 
And royal crimes disgraced thy 

course. 

King Maximilian ! 

Alas! what ground for mercy's 

plea 
In his behalf, whose fell decree 
Gave soldiers unto felons' graves. 
And freemen to the doom of 



Fierce Maximilian ? 

I loathe the nide, barbaric wrath 
That slew thee in thy vent'rous 

path ; 
But " they who take," thus saith 

the Lord, 
" Shall also perish by the sword," 
Doomed Maximilian ! 

But, when I think upon the 

scene, — 
Thy fearful fate, thy wretched 

queen, — 
And mark how bravely thou didst 

die, 
I brfaathe again the pitying sigh, 
" Poor Maximilian ! " 



WISHING. 

Of all amusements for the mind, 

From logic down to fishiuw, 
There is n't one that you can find 

So very cheap as " wishing." 
A very choice diversion too, 

If we but rightly use it. 
And not, as we are apt to do, 

Pervert it, and abuse it. 

I wish, — a common wish, 
indeed, — 
My purse were somewhat fatter. 
That I might cheer the child of 
need, 
And not my pride to flatter ; 
That I might make Oppression 
reel. 
As only gold can make it, 
And break the Tyrant's rod of 
steel, 
As only gold can break it. 

I wish — that Sympathy and Love, 

And every human passion 
That has its origin above. 

Would come and keep in fashion ; 
That Scorn, and Jealousy, and 
Hate, 

And every base emotion. 
Were buried fifty fathom deep 

Beneath the waves of Ocean ! 

I wish — that friends were always 
true, 

And motives always pure ; 
I wish the good were not so few, 

I wish the bad were fewer; 
I wish that parsons ne'er forgot 

To heed their pious teaching; 
I wish that practising was not 

So difierent from preaching ! 

I wish — that modest worth might 
be 
Appraised with truth and can- 
dor; 



10 



A POETS ELEGY. 



I wish that innocence were free 
From treachery and shmder ; 
I wish that men their vows would 
mind; 
That women ne'er were rovers; 
I wish that wives were always 
kind, 
And husbands always lovers ! 

I wish — in fine — that Joy and 
Mirth, 

And every good Ideal, 
May come ere while, throughout the 
earth. 

To be the glorious Eeal ; 
Till God shall every creature bless 

With his supremest blessing, 
And Hope be lost in Happiness, 

And Wishing in Possessing ! 



THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 



A YOUTH would marry a maiden, 

F'or fair and fond was she ; 
But she was rich, and he was poor, 
And so it might not be. 
A lady never' could zvear — 

Her mother held it firm — 
A gown that came oj' an India 
plant, 
Instead of an India worm ! — 
And so the cruel word was spoken ; 
And so it was two hearts were 
broken. 



A youth would marry a maiden, 

For fair and fond was she ; 
But he was high and she was low, 
And so it might not be. 

A man who had worn a spur, 

In ancient battle won. 
Had sent it down unth great 
renoion. 
To goad his future son I — 



And so the cruel word was spokevi ; 
And so it was two hearts were 
broken. 

III. 

A youth would marry a maiden, 

For fair and fond was she ; 
But their sires disputed about the 
Mass, 
And so it might not be. 
A couple of wicked kings, 

Three hundred years agone, 
Had 2)layed at a royal game of 
chess, 
And the Church had been a 
paivn ! — 
And so the cruel word was spoken ; 
And so it was two hearts were 
broken. 



A POET'S ELEGY. 

Here rests, at last, from worldly 
care and strife, 
A gentle man-of-rhyme. 
Not all unknown to fame, — whose 
lays and life 
Fell short of the sublime. 

Yet, as his poems ('t was the critics' 
praise) 
Betrayed a careful mind. 
His life, with less of license than 
his lays, 
To Virtue was inclined. 

Whate'er of Wit the kindly Muse 
supplied 
He ever strove to bend 
To Folly's hurt; nor once with 
wanton pride 
Employed to pain a friend. 

He loved a quip, but in his jesting 
vein 
With studious care effaced 



THE MOURNER A LA MODE. 



11 



The doubtful word that threatened 
to profane 
The sacred or the chaste. 

He loathed the covert, diabolic jeer 
That conscience undermines ; 

No hinted sacrilege nor sceptic 
sneer 
Lurks in his laughing lines. 

With satire's sword to pierce the 
false and wrong ; 
A ballad to invent 
That bore a wholesome sermon in 
the song, — 
Such was the poet's bent. 

In social converse, " happy as a 
king," 
When colder men refrained 
From daring flights, he gave his 
fancy wing 
And freedom unrestrained. 

And golden thoughts, at times, — 
a motley brood, — 
Came flashing from the mine ; 
And fools who saw him in his merry 
mood 
Accused the untasted wine. 

He valued friendship's favor more 
than fame, 
And paid his social dues ; 
He loved his Art, — but held his 
manly name 
Far dearer than his Muse. 

And partial friends, while gayly 
laughing o'er 
The merry lines they quote. 
Say with a sigh, " To us the man 
was more 
Than aught he ever wrote ! " 



THE MOURNER A LA MODE. 

I SAW her last night at a party 
(The elegant party at Mead's), 



And looking remarkably hearty 
For a widow so young in her 
weeds ; 
Yet I know she was suffering sor- 
row 
Too deep for the tongue to ex- 
press, — 
Or why had she chosen to borro-W 
So much from the language o\ 
dress ? 

Her shawl was as sable as night; 
And her gloves were as dark as 
her shawl ; 
And her jewels — that flashed in 
the light — 
Were black as a funeral pall ; 
Her robe had the hue of the rest, 

(How nicely it fitted her shape ! ) 
And the grief that was heaving her 
breast 
Boiled over in billows of crape ! 

What tears of vicarious woe. 

That else might have sullied her 
face. 
Were kindly permitted to flow 

In ripples of ebony lace ! 
While even her fan, in its play. 

Had quite a lugubrious scope, 
And seemed to be waving away 

The ghost of the angel of Hope ! 

Yet rich as the robes of a queen 
Was the sombre apparel she 
wore; 
I 'm certain I never had seen 
Such a sumptuous sorrow be- 
fore; 
And I could n't help thinking the 
beauty. 
In mourning the loved and the 
lost, 
Was doing her conjugal duty 
Altogether regardless of cost ! 

One surely would say a devotion 
Performed at so vast an expense 



12 



THE EXPECTED SHIP. 



Betraryed an excess of emotion 
That was really something im- 
mense ; 
And yet as I viewed, at my leisure, 

Those tokens of tender regard, 
I thought : — It is scarce without 
measure — 
The sorrow that goes by the 
yard! 

Ah ! grief is a curious passion ; 

And yours — I am sorely afraid 
The very next phase of the fashion 

Will find it beginning to fade; 
Though dark are the shadows of 
grief, 
The morning will follow the 
night. 
Half-tints will betoken relief, 
Till joy shall be symboled in 
white ! 

Ah well ! it were idle to quarrel 
With Fashion, or aught she may 
do; 
And so I conclude with a moral 
And metaphor — warranted 
new: — 
When measles come handsomely 
out. 
The patient is safest, they say ; 
And the Sorrow is mildest, no 
doubt. 
That works in a similar way ! 



THE EXPECTED SHIP. 

Thus I heard a poet say. 
As he sang in merry glee, 

" Ah ! 't will be a golden day. 
When my ship comes o'er the 
sea! 

»" I do know a cottage fine. 
As a poet's house should be, 

And the cottage shall be mine. 
When my ship comes o'er the 

Rf.a. I 



" I do know a maiden fair, 
Fair, and fond, and dear to 
me, 
And we '11 be a wedded pair. 
When my ship comes o'er the 
sea! 

" And within that cottage fine, 
Blest as any king ma^ be, 

Every pleasure shall be mine, • 
When my ship comes o'er the 
sea! 

" To be rich is to be great; 

Love is only for the free ; 
Grant me patience, while I wait 

Till my ship comes o'er the 



Months and years have come and 
gone 

Since the poet sang to me, 
Yet he still keeps hoping on 

For the ship from o'er the seal 

Thus the siren voice of Hope 
Whispers still to you and me 

Of something in the future's scope, 
Some golden ship from o'er the 



Never sailor yet hath found, 
Looking windward or to lee, 

Any vessel homeward bound, 
Like that ship from o'er the 
sea! 

Never comes the shining deck ; 

But that tiny cloud may be — 
Though It seems the merest speck — 

The promised ship from o'er the 



Never looms the swelling sail, 
But the wind is blowing free, 

And that may be the precious gale 
That brings the ship from o'er 
the sea I 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 
THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 

stately, calm, and 



IS 



The head 
wise, 

And bears a princely part ; 
And down below in secret lies 

The warm, impulsive heart. 

The lordly head that sits above, 
The heart that beats below. 

Their several office plainly prove. 
Their true relation show. 

The head, erect, serene, and cool. 
Endowed with Reason's art. 

Was set aloft to guide and rule 
The throbbing, wayward heart. 

And from the head, as from the 
higher. 

Comes every glorious thought ; 
And in the heart's transforming fire 

All noble deeds are wrought. 

Yet each is best when both unite 
To make the man complete ; 

What were the heat without the 
light? 
The light, without the heat ? 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



A LEGEND OF GOTHAM. 



0, TERRIBLY proud was Miss Mac- 
Bride, 

The very personification of Pride, 

As she minced along in Fashion's 
tide, 

Adown Broadway, — on the proper 
side, — 
When the golden sun was set- 
ting; 

There was pride in the head she 
carried so high, 



Pride in her lip, and pride inher eye 
And a world of pride inthevery sigb 
That her stately bosom was fret^. 
ting; 



A sigh that a pair of elegant feet. 
Sandalled in satin, should kiss the 

street, — 
The very same that the vulgai 

greet 
In common leather not ovei 

"neat," — 
For such is the common boot- 
ing; 
( And Christian tears may well be 

shed. 
That even among our gentlemen 

bred. 
The glorious day of Morocco is 

dead, 
And Day and Martin are raininjj 

instead, 
On a much inferior footing! ) 

III. 

0, terribly proud was Miss Mac- 
Bride, 

Proud of her beatity, and proud of 
her pride. 

And proud of fifty matters beside, 
That would n't have borne dis- 
section ; 

Proud of her wit, and proud of her 
walk. 

Proud of her teeth, and proud of 
her talk. 

Proud of " knowing cheese from 
chalk," 
On a very slight inspection ! 



Proud abroad, and proud at home, 
Proud wherever she chanced to 

come. 
When she was glad, and when she 
was glum ; 
Proud as the head of a Sar- 



14 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



Over the door of a tippling shop ! — 
Proud as a duchess, proud as a 

fop, 
" Proud as a boy with a bran-new 
top," 
Proud beyond comparison ! 



It seems a singular thing to 

say, 
But her very senses led her astray 

Respecting all humility; 
In sooth, her dull auricular drum 
Could find in Humble only a 

"hum," 
And heard no sound of " gentle " 

come, 
In talking about gentility. 



What Lowly meant she did n't 
know. 

For she always avoided *' every- 
thing low," 
With care the most punctil- 
ious. 

And queerer still, the audible sound 

Of " super-silly " she never had 
found 
In the adjective supercilious! 



The meaning of Meeh she never 
knew, 

But imagined the phrase had some- 
thing to do 

With " Moses," — a peddling Ger- 
man Jew, 

Who, like all hawkers the country 
through. 
Was a person of no position; 

Anct it seemed to her exceedingly 
plain. 

If the word was really known to 
pertain 

To a vulgar German, it was n't 
germane 
To a lady of high condition ! 



VIII. 

Even her graces, — not her gra€«, 
For that was in the " vocative 

case," — 
Chilled with the touch of her icy 

face. 
Sat very stiffly upon her; 
She never confessed a favor aloud. 
Like one of the simple, common 

crowd. 
But coldly smiled, and faintly 

bowed, 
As who should say: " You do me 

proud. 
And do yourself an honor! " 

IX. 

And yet the pride of Miss Mac- 
Bride, 

Although it had fifty hobbies to 
ride. 
Had really no foundation ; 

But, like the fabrics that gossips 
devise, — 

Those single stories that often arise 

And grow till they reach a four- 
story size, 
Was merely a fancy creation I 



'Tis a curious fact as ever was 

known 
In human nature, but often shown 

Alike in castle and cottage. 
That pride, like pigs of a certain 

breed. 
Will manage to live and thrive on 
"feed" 
As poor as a pauper's pot- 
tage! 

XI. 

That her wit should never have 

made her vain. 
Was, like her face, sufficiently 

plain,- 
And as to her musical pov,- 

ers. 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



15 



Although she sang until she was 

hoarse, 
And issued notes with a Banker's 

force, 
They were just such notes as we 

never indorse 
For any acquaintance of ours ! 



Her birth, indeed, was uncom- 
monly high, 

For Miss SlacBride first opened 
her eye 

Through a skylight dim, on the 
light of the sky ; 
But pride is a curious pas- 
sion. 

And in talking about her wealth 
and worth 

She always forgot to mention her 
birth. 
To people of rank and fash- 

inn f 



Of all the notable things on earth. 
The queerest one is pride of 

birth, 
Among our "fierce Democra- 

cie" ! 
A bridge across a hundred years. 
Without a prop to save it from 

sneers, — 
Not even a couple of rotten 

Peers, — 
A thing for laughter, fleers, and 

jeers, 
Is American aristocracy ! 

XIV. 

English and Irish, French and 
Spanish, 

German, Italian, Dutch, and Dan- 
ish, 

Crossing their veins until they 
vanish 
In one conglomeration ! 

So subtle a tangle of Blood, indeed. 



No modern Harvey will ever suc- 
ceed 
In finding the circulation! 



Depend upon it, my snobbish 
friend. 

Your family thread you can't 
ascend. 

Without good reason to apprehend 

You may find it waxed at the 
farther end 

By some plebeian vocation ; 

Or, worse than that, your boasted 
Line 

May end in a loop of stronger twine, 
That plagued some worthy rela- 
tion! 

XVI. 

But Miss MacBride had something 

beside 
Her lofty birth to nourish her 

pride ; 
For rich was the old paternal Mac- 
Bride, 
According to public rumor; 
And he lived " Up Town," in a 

splendid square. 
And kept his daughter on dainty 

fare, 
And gave her gems that were rich 

and rare. 
And the finest rings and things to 

wear, 
And feathers enough to plume 

her! 

XVII. 

An honest mechanic was John 

MacBride 
As ever an honest calling plied, 

Or graced an honest ditty ; 
For John had worked, in his early 

day, 
In " Pots and Pearls," the legends 

say. 
And kept a shop with a rich array 



16 



THE PROUD MISS M ACER IDE. 



Of things in the soap and candle 
way, 
In the lower part of the city. 

XVIII. 

No vara avis was honest John, 

(That's the Latin for "sable 
swan,") 
Though, in one of his fancy 
flashes, 

A wicked wag, who meant to de- 
ride, 

Called honest John "Old Phoenix 
MacBride, 
" Because he rose from his 
ashes! " 



Alack! formany ambitious beaux! 
6he hung their hopes upon her nose, 

(The figure is quite Hora- 
tian!)* 
Until from habit the member grew 
As queer a thing as ever you knew 

Turn up to observation ! 



A thriving tailor begged her hand. 

But she gave " the fellow " to un- 
derstand, 
By a violent manual action. 

She perfectly scorned the best of 
his clan. 

And reckoned the ninth of any 
man 
An exceedingly Vulgar Frac- 
tion I 

XXI. 

Another, whose sign was a golden 
boot, 

Was mortified with a bootless suit, 
In a way that was quite appall- 
ing; 

For though a regular sutor by trade. 

He was n't a suitor to suit the maid, 

* " Omnia suBpendens uaso." 



Who cut him off with a saw, — and 
bade 
" The cobbler keep to his call- 
ing." 

XXII. 

(The Muse must let a secret out, — 

There is n't the faintest shadow of 
doubt. 

That folks who oftenest sneer and 
flout 
At "the dirty, low mechani- 
cals," 

Are they whose sires, by pounding 
their knees, 

Or coiling their legs, or trades like 
these. 

Contrived to win their children ease 
From poverty's galling mana- 
cles. ) 

XXIII. 

A rich tobacconist comes and sues, 
And, thinking the lady would 

scarce refuse 
A man of his wealth and liberal 

views. 
Began, at once, with, " If you 

choose, — 
And could you really love 

him — " I 

But the lady spoiled his speech in | 

a huff, < 

With an answer rough and ready 

enough. 
To let him know she was up to 

snuff, 
And altogether above him 1 

XXIV. 

A young attorney of winning grace 
Was scarce allowed to "open his 

face," 
Ere Miss MacBride had closed his 

case 
With true judicial celerity; 
For the lawyer was poor, and 

"seedy " to boot, 



THE PROUD MISS MA CB RIDE. 



17 



And to say the lady discarded his 
suit, 
Is merely a double verity. 

XXV- 

The last of those who came to 

court 
Was a lively beau of the dapper 

sort, 
" Without any visible means of 

support^" — 
A crime by no means flagrant 
In one who wears an elegant coat, 
But the very point on which they 

vote 
A ragged fellow '* a vagrant." 

XXVI. 

A courtly fellow was Dapper 

Jim, 
Sleek and supple, and tall and 

trim, 
And smooth of tongue as neat of 

limb; 
And, maugre his meagre pocket. 
You 'd say, from the glittering tales 

he told, 
That Jim had slept in a cradle of 

gold. 
With Fortunatus to rock it ! 

XXVII. 

Now Dapper Jim his courtship 

plied 
(I wish the fact could be denied) 
With an eye to the purse of the old 

MacBride, 
And really " nothing shorter" ! 
For he said to himself, in his greedy 

lust, 
" Whenever he dies, — as die he 

must, — 
And yields to Hsaven his vital trust, 
He "s very sure to ' come down with 

his dust,' 
In behalf of his only daugh- 
ter." 



XXVIII. 

And the ver}'- magnificent Miss 

MacBride, 
Half in love and half in pride. 

Quite graciously relented ; 
And tossing her head, and turning 

her back, 
No token of proper pride to lack, 
To be a Bride without the " Mac," 
With much disdain, consented. 

XXIX. 

Alas ! that people who 've got their 
box 

Of cash beneath the best of locks. 

Secure ft'om all financial shocks. 

Should stock their fancy with fancy 
stocks. 

And madly rush upon Wall Street 
rocks, 
Without the least apology; 

Alas! that people whose money 
affairs 

Are sound beyond all need of re- 
pairs, 

Should ever tempt the bulls and 
bears 
Of Mammon's fierce Zoology! 

XXX. 

Old John MacBride, one fatal 

day. 
Became the unresisting prey 
Of Fortune's undertakers^ 
And staking his all on a single die, 
His foundered bark went high and 
dry 
Amonff the brokers and break- 



XXXI. 

At his trade again in the very shop 
Where, years before, he let it drop, 
He follows his ancient call- 
ing, — 
Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite. 



18 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



And sleeping quite as sound at 

night, 
As when, at Fortune's giddy height, 
He used to wake with a dizzy fright 
From a dismal dreaiH of falling. 

XXXII. 

But alas for the haughty Miss Mac- 
Bride ! 

'T was such a shock to her precious 
pi'ide, 

She could n't recover, although she 
tried 
Her jaded spirits to rally; 

'T was" a dreadful change in human 
affairs 

From a Place "Up Town" to a 
nook "Up Stairs," 
From an Avenue down to an 
Alley! 

XXXIII. 

'T was little condolence she had, 
God wot. 

From her " troops of friends," who 
hadn't forgot 
The airs she used to boi-row ; 

They had civil phrases enough, but 
yet 

*T was plain to see that their 
" deepest regret" 
Was a different thing from Sor- 
row! 



XXXIV. 

They owTied it could n't have well 
been worse, 

To go from a full to an empty 
purse ; 

To expect a reversion and get a 
"reverse," 
Was truly a dismal feature ; 

But it was n't strange, — they 
whispered, — at all ; 

That the Summer of pride should 
have its Fall 
Was quite according to Na- 
ture! 



XXXV. 

And one of those chaps who make 
a pun — 

As if it were quite legitimate fun 
To be blazing away at every 

one. 
With a regular double - loaded 
gun — 
Remarked that moral transgres- 
sion 
Always brings retributive stings 
To candle-makers, as well as kings ' 
And making light of cereous things 
Was a very wick-ed profes- 
sion! 

XXXVI. 

And vulgar people, the saucy 

churls. 
Inquired about "the price of 
Pearls," 
And mocked at her situation; 
" She was n't ruined, they ven- 
tured to hope ; 
Because she was poor, she needn't 

mope, — 
Few people were better off for soap, 
And that was a consolation! " 

XXXVII. 

And to make her cup of woe run 

over. 
Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover 
Was the very first to forsake 

her; 
He quite regretted the step, 't was 

true, — 
The lady had pride enough for 

two. 
But that alone would never do 
To quiet the butcher and 

baker ! 

XXXVIII. 

And now the unhappy Miss Mac- 
Bride, 
The merest ghost of her early pride, 
Bewails her lonely position; 



THE MASQUERADE. 



19 



<:;!ramped in the very narrowest 

niche, 
A.bove the poor, and below the rich, 
Was ever a worse condition V 

MOKAL. 

Because yon flourish in worldly 

affairs, 
Don't be haughty, and put on airs, 

With insolent pride of station ! 
Don't be proud, and turn up your 

nose 
At poorer people in plainer clo'es, 
But learn, for the sake of your 

soul's repose, 
That wealth 's a bubble, that 

comes, — and goes ! 
And that all Proud Flesh, wherever 

it grows, 
Is subject to irritation ! 



THE MASQUERADE. 

Hap(^ao-i?, rjT* exAei/ze vdoi' nvKa nep 
(j)pove6vTuiv. 

HOM. II. xiv. 217. 



Count Felix was a man of worth 
By Fashion's strictest definition. 
For he had money, manners, birth. 
And that most slippery thing on 
earth 
Which social critics call posi- 
tion. 



And yet the Count was seldom 

gay; 

The rich and noble have their 

crosses ; 

And he — as he was wont to say — 

Had seen some trouble in his day, 

And met with several serious 



Among the rest, he lost his wife, 

A very model of a woman, 
With every needed virtue rife 
To lead a spouse a happy life, — 
Such wives (in France) are not 
uncommon. 



The lady died, and left him sad 
And ione, to mourn the best of 
spouses : 
She left him also — let me add — 
One child, and all the wealth she 
had, — 
The rent of half a dozen houses. 



I cannot tarry to discuss 

The weeping husband's desola- 
tion ; 
Upon her tomb he wrote it thus : — 
" Felix infelicissimus ! " 

In very touching ostentation. 

VI. 

Indeed, the Count's behavior 
earned 
The plaudits of his strict con- 
fessor; 
His weeds of woe had fairly turned 
From black to brown, ere he had 
learned 
To think about his wife's suc- 
cessor. 



And then, indeed, 't was but a 
thought ; 
A sort of sentimental dreaming. 
That came at times, and came — 

to naught, 
With all the plans so nicely 
wrought 
By matrons skilled in marriage- 
scheming. 



20 



THE MASQUERADE. 



At last when many years had fled, 
And Father Time, the great phy- 
sician, 
Had soothed his sorrow for the 

dead, 
Count Felix took it in his head 
To change his wearisome con- 
dition. 

IX. 

You think, perhaps, 't was quickly 
done ; 
The Count was still a man of 
fashion ; 
"Wealth, title, talents, all in one. 
Were eloquence to win a niin. 
If nuns could feel a worldly pas- 
sion. 

X. 

And yet the Count might well de- 
spond 
Of tying soon the silken tether ; 
Wise, witty, handsome, faithful, 

fond, 
And twenty — not a year beyond — 
Are charming, — when they 
come together ! 

XI. 

But more than that, the man re- 
quired 
A wife to share his whims and 
fancies ; 
Admire alone what he admired; 
Desire, of course, as he desired. 
And show it in her very glances. 



Long, long the would-be wooer 
tried 
To find his precious ultima- 
tum^ — 
All earthly charms in one fair 

bride; 
But still in vain he sought and 
sighed; 
He could n't manage to get at 



In sooth, the Count was one of 
those 
Who, seeking something super- 
human, 

Find not the angel they would 
choose, 

And — what is more unlucky — 
lose 
Their chance to wed a charming 
woman. 

XIV. 

The best-matched doves in Hy- 
men's cage 
Were paired in youth's romantic 
season; 
Laugh as you will at passion's rage, 
The most"^ unreasonable age 
Is what is called the age of rea- 
son. 

XV. 

In love-affairs, we all have seen, 
The heart is oft the best adviser; 

The gray might well consult the 
"green," 

Cool sixty learn of rash sixteen, 
And go away a deal the wiser. 

XVI. 

The Count's high hopes began to 

fade ; * 

His plans were not at all advan- 
cing; 
When, lo ! — one day his valet 

made i 

Some mention of a masquerade, — 
" I '11 go," said he, — " and see 
the dancing." 



" 'T will serve my spirits to arouse ; 
And, faith i I'm getting melan- 
choly. 
'T is not the place to seek a spouse, 
Where people go to break their 
vows, — 
But then 'twill be extremely 
jolly! " 



i 



THE MASQUERADE. 



2J 



XVIII. 

Count Felix found the crowd im- 
mense, 
And, had he been a censor mo- 
rum^ 
He might have said, without of- 
fence, 
" Got up regardless of expense. 
And some — regardless of deco- 
rum." 

XIX. 

'' Faith ! — all the world is here to- 
night! " 
" Nay," said a merry friend de- 
murely, 
' Not quite the whole, — pardon ! 

— not quite; 
Le Demi-Mome were nearer right. 
And no exaggeration, surely! " 

XX. 

The revelry ('t was just begun) 
A stoic might have found divert- 
ing; 
That is, of course, if he was one 
Who liked to see a bit of fun, 
And fancied ^ersz^a^re and flirt- 
ing. 

XXI. 

But who can paint that giddy 
maze? 
Go find the lucky man who han- 
dles 
A brush to catch, on gala-days, 
The whirling, shooting, flashing 
rays 
Of Catherine-wheels and Koman 
candles ! 

XXII. 

All sorts of masks that e'er were 
seen; 
Fantastic, comic, and satanic; 
Dukes, dwarfs, and " Highnesses " 

(Serene), 
And (that 's of course/ the Cyprian 
Queen, 
In gauzes few and diaphanic. 



XXIII. 

Lean Carmelites, fat Capuchins, 
Giants half human and half bes- 
tial; 
Kings, Queens, Magicians, Harle- 
quins, 
Greeks, Tartars, Turks, and Man- 
darins 
More diabolic than " Celestial." 

XXIV. 

Fair Scripture dames, — Naomi, 
Euth, 
And Hagar, looking quite de- 
mented; 
The Virtues (all — excepting 

Truth) 
And Magdalens, who were in sooth 
Just half of what they repre- 
sented ! 

XXV. 

Fates, Furies, Fairies, — all the 
best 
And worst of Fancy's weird cre- 
ation ; 
Psyche and Cupid (demi-dressed) 
With several Vestals — by request, 
And solely for that one occasion. 

XXVI. 

And one, among the motley brood, 
He saw, who shunned the wan- 
. ton dances ; 
A sort of demi-nun, who stood 
In ringlets flashing from a hood, 
And seemed to seek our hero's 
glances. 

XXVII. 

The Count, delighted with her air, 
Drew near, the better to behold 
her; 
Her form was slight, her skin was 

fair. 
And maidenhood, you well might 
swear. 
Breathed from the dimples in her 
shoulder. 



22 



THE MASQUERADE. 



XXVIII. 

He , spoke ; she answered with a 
grace 
That showed the girl no vulgar 
heiress ; 
And, — if the features one may- 
trace 
In voices, — hers betrayed a face 
The finest to be found in Paris ! 

XXIX. 

And then such wit ! — in repartee 
She shone without the least en- 
deavor ; 
A beauty and a hel-esprit ! 
A scholar, too, — 't was plain to 
see. 
Who ever saw a girl so clever ? 

XXX. 

Her taste he ventured to explore 
In books, the graver and the 
lighter. 
And mentioned authors by the 

score ; 
Mon Dieu ! in every sort of lore 
She always chose his favorite 
writer ! 

XXXI. 

She loved the poets ; but confessed 
Racine beat all the others hol- 
low; 
At least, she thought his style the 

best — 
(Kacine ! Ms literary test ! 
Eacine ! his Maxhnus Apollo !) 

XXXII. 

Whatever topic he might name, 
Their minds were strangely sym- 
pathetic ; 
Of courtship, marriage, fashion, 

fame, 
their views and feelings were the 
same, — 
" Parbleu .' " he cried, " it looks 
prophetic! " 



1 



XXXIII. 

" Come, let us seek an ampler 

space; 
This heated room — I can't 

abide it ! 
That mask, I 'm sure, is out of 

place, 
And hides the fairest, sweetest 

face — " 
Said she, " I wear the mask to 

hide it!" 

XXXIV. 

The answer was extremely pat, 
And gave the Count a deal of 
pleasure : 
"C"es# vrai ! I did not think of 

that! 
Come, let us go where we can chat 
And eat (I 'm hungry) at our lei- 
sure." 

XXXV. 

"I'm hungry too! " she said, — 
and went. 
Without the least attempt to 
cozen, — 
Like ladies who refuse, relent, 
Debate, oppose, and then consent 
To — eat enough for half a dozen ! 

XXXVI. 

And so they sat them down to dine. 
Solus cum sola, gay and merry ; 
The Count inquires the sort of wine 
To which his charmer may in- 
cline ; 
Ah ! quelle merveille ! she an- 
swers, " Sherry! " 

XXXVII. 

What will she eat V She takes the 

carte, 
And notes the viands that she 

wishes ; 
" Pardon, Monsieur ! what makes 

you start? " 






MY FAMILIAR. 



23 



As if she knew his tastes by heart, 
The lady named his favorite 
dishes ! 

XXXVIII. 

Was e'er such sympathy before? 
The Count was really half de- 
mented ; 
He kissed her hand, and roundly 

swore 
He loved her perfectly ! — and, 
more, — 
He 'd wed her — if the gods con- 
sented ! 

XXXIX. 

" Monsieur is very kind," she said, 

" His love so lavishly bestowing 

On one who never thought to 

wed, — 
And least of all " — she raised her 
head — 
*"Tis late, Sir Knight, I must 
be going! " 



Count Felix sighed, — and while he 
drew 
Her shawl about her, at his lei- 
sure, 

"What street?" he asked; "my 
cab is due." 

"No, no ! " she said, " / 5^0 with 
you! 
That is — if it may be your pleas- 
ure." 



Of course, there 's little need to say 
The Count delighted in her cap- 
ture; 
Away he drove, and all the way 
He murmured, " Quelle felicite ! " 
In very ecstasy of rapture ! 

XLII. 

Arrived at home — just where a 
fount 
Shot forth a jet of lucent water — 



He helped the lady to dismount; 
She drops her mask, and lo ! the 

Count 
Sees — Dieu de del ! — his only 

daughter ! 

XLIII. 

"Good night! " she said, — "I'm 
very well. 
Although you thought my health 
was fading; 
Be good — and I will never tell 
('T was funny though) of what be- 
fell 
When you and I went masquer-^ 
ading! " 



MY FAMILIAR. 

" Ecce iterum Crispinus! " 

I. 

Again I hear that creaking step 1 — » 

He 's rapping at the door! — 
Too well I know the boding sound 

That ushers in a bore. 
I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes. 
But Heaven defend me from th« 
friend 
Who comes — but never goes ! 

II. 

He drops into my easy-chair, 

And asks about the news ; 
He peers into my manuscript, 

And gives his candid views; 
He tells me where he likes the Une, 

And where he 's forced to grieve^ 
He takes the strangest liberties, — • 

But never takes his leave ! 



He reads my daily paper through 
Before I 'Ve seen a word ; 

He scans the lyric (that I wrote) 
And thinks it quite absurd; 

He calmly smokes my last cigar, 
And coollv asks for more; 



24 



LOVE AND LAW. 



He opens everything he sees — 
Except the entry door ! 



He talks about his fragile health, 

And tells me of the pains 
He suffers from a score of ills 

Of which he ne'er complains ; 
And how he struggled once with 
death 

To keep the fiend at bay ; 
On themes like those away he 
goes, — 

But never goes away ! 



He tells me of the carping words 

Some shallow critic wrote ; 
And every precious paragraph 

Familiarly can quote ; 
He thinks the writer did me wrong; 

He 'd like to run him through! 
He says a thousand pleasant 
things, — 

But never says, " Adieu ! " 



Whene'er he comes, — that dread- 
ful man, — 

Disguise it as I may, 
I know that, like an Autumn rain, 

He '11 last throughout the day. 
In vain 1 speak of urgent tasks ; 

In vain I scowl and pout; 
A frown is no extinguisher, — 

It does not put him out ! 



I mean to take the knocker off. 

Put crape upon the door. 
Or hint to John that I am gone 

To stay a month or more. 
I do not tremble when 1 meet 

The stoutest of my foes. 
But Heaven defend me from the 
friend 

Who never, never goes ! 



LOVE AND LAW. 

A LEGEND OF BOSTON. 



Jack Newman was in love; a 

common case 
With boys just verging upon 

manhood's prime, 
When every damsel with a pretty 

face 
Seems some bright creature from 

a purer clime, > 

Sent by the gods to bless a country 1 

town, — 
A pink-checked angel in a muslin 

gown. 



Jack was in love ; and also much 
in doubt 
(As thoughtful lovers oft have 
been before) 
If it were better to be in or out. 
Such pain alloyed his bliss. On 
i-eason's score, 
Perhaps 't is equally a sin to get 
Too deep in love, in liquor, or in 
debt. 

III. 
The lady of his love. Miss Mary 
Blank 
(I call her so to hide her real 
name), 
Was fair and twenty, and in social 
rank — 
That is, in riches — much above 
her flame ; 
The daughter of a person who had 

tin 
Already won ; while Jack had his 
to win. 



Her father was a lawyer; rather 
rusty 
In legal lore, but one who well 
had striven 



LOVE AND LAW. 



25 



In former days to swell his ""^ res 

angustce " 
To broad possessions; and, in 

short, had thriven 
gravely in his vocation; though, 

the fact is. 
More by his "practices" ('twas 

said) than practice! 



A famous man was Blank for sound 

advice 
In doubtful cases ; for example, 

where 
The point in question is extremely 

nice, 
And turns upon tlie section of a 

hair; 
Or where — which seems a very 

common pother — 
Justice looks one way, and the Law 

another. 



Great was his skill to make or mar 
a plot : 
To prop, at need, a rotten rep- 
utation. 

Or undermine a good one ; he had 
got 
By heart the subtle science of 
evasion. 

And knew the useful art to pick a 
flaw 

Through which a rascal might 
escape the law. 



Jack was his pupil ; J*^nd 't is rather 
queer 
So shrewd a couns^cUor did not 
discover, 
With all his cunning hcth of eye 
and ear. 
That this same pupi-" was b-i-s 
daughter's lover/ 



And — what woxild much have 
shocked his legal tutor — 

Was even now the girl's accepted 
suitor ! 



Fearing a non-suit, if the lawyer 

knew 
The case too soon. Jack kept it 

to himself; 
And, stranger still, the lady kept 

it too ; 
For well he knew the father's 

pride of pelf^ 
Should e'en a bare suspicion cross 

his mind, 
Would soon abate the action they 

designed. 



For Jack was impecunious; and 

Blank 
Had small regard for people wha 

were poor; 
Riches to him were beauty, grace, 

and rank: 
In short, the man was one of 

many mofe 
Who worship money-bags and thosfl 

who own 'em. 
And think a handsome sum the 

summum bonum. 



I 'm fond of civil words, and do 
not wish 
To be satirical; but none de- 
spise 

The poor so truly as the nouveaux 
riche ; 
And here, no doubt, the real 
reason lies. 

That being over-proud of what 
they are. 

They 're naturally ashamed of 
what they were. 



RHYME OF THE RAIL. 



Certain to meet the father's cold 

negation, 
Jack dare not ask him for his 

daughter's hand. 
What should he do ? ' T was surely 

an occasion 
For all the wit a lover might 

command ; 
At last he chose (it seemed his only 

hope) 
That final card of Cupid, — to 

elope ! 

XII. 

A pretty plan to please a penny-a- 
liner ; 
But far less pleasant for the 
leading factor. 

Should the fair maiden chance to 
be a minor 
(Whom the law reckons an un- 
willing actor) ; 

And here Jack found a rather sad 
obstruction, — 

He might be caught and punished 
for abduction. 



What could he do V Well, — here 

is what he did : 
As a "moot-case" to Lawyer 

Blank he told 
The whole affair, save that the 

names were hid. 
I can't help thinking it was rather 

bold. 
But Love is partial to heroic 

schemes, 
And often proves much wiser than 

he seems. 

XIV. 

" The thing is safe enough, with 
proper care," 
Observed the lawyer, smiling. 
" Here 's your course: — 
Just let the lady manage the affair 



Throughout; Videlicet, she gexs 

the horse, 
And mounts him, unassisted, Jirst ; 

but mind. 
The woman sits before, and you, 

behind ! 



"Then who is the abductor? — 

Just suppose 
A court and jury looking at the 

case; 
What ground of action do the facts 

disclose V 
They find a horse, — two riders, 

— and a race, — 
And you ' Not Guilty ' ; for 't is 

clearly true 
The dashing damsel ran away with 

you! " 

XVI. 

***** 

XVII. 

These social sins are often rather 
grave; 
I give such deeds no countenance 
of mine; 

Nor can I say the father e'er for- 
gave; 
But that was surely a propitious 
"sign," 

On which (in after years) the 
words I saw 

Were, " Blank and Newman, 
Counsellors at Law ! " 



RHYME OF THE RAIL. 

Singing through the forests, 

Rattling over ridges, 
Shooting under arches, 

Rumbling over bridges. 
Whizzing through the mountainsi, 

Buzzing o'er the vale, — 



i 



THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. 



27 



Bless me ! this is pleasant, 
Biding on the Rail! 

Men of different " stations " 

in the eye of Fame 
Here are very quickly 

Coming to the same. 
High and lowly people, 

Birds of every feather. 
On a common level 

Travelling together ! 

Gentleman in shorts. 

Looming very tall ; 
Gentleman at large, 

Talking very small; 
Gentleman in lights. 

With a loose-i'sh mien ; 
Gentleman in gray, 

Looking rather green. 

Crentleman quite old. 

Asking for the news ; 
Gentleman in hlack. 

In a fit of blues ; 
Gentleman in claret, 

Sober as a vicar; 
Gentleman in Tweed, 

Dreadfully in liquor ! 

Stranger on the right. 
Looking very sunny. 

Obviously reading 
Something rather funny. 

Now the smiles are thicker,^ 
Wonder what they mean? 

Faith, he's got the 'Knicker- 
bocker Magazine ! 

Stranger on the left. 

Closing up his peepers*, 
Now he snores amain. 

Like the Seven Sleepers; 
At his feet a volume 

Gives the explanation. 
How the man gi-ew stupid 

From " Association " ! 

Ancient maiden lady 
Anxiously remarks, 



That there must be peril 

'Mong so many sparks ! 
Roguish-looking fellow. 

Turning to the stranger, 
Says it 's'his opinion 

She is out of danger ! 

Woman with her baby, 

Sitting vis-a-vis ; 
Baby keeps a squalling; 

Woman looks at me ; 
Asks about the distance. 

Says it's tiresome talking, 
Noises of the cars 

Are so very shocking ! 

Market-woman careful 

Of the precious casket, 
Knowing eggs are eggs. 

Tightly holds her basket; 
Feeling that a smash. 

If it came, would surely 
Send her eggs to pot 

Rather prematurely ! 

Singing through the forests, 

Rattling over ridges. 
Shooting under arches. 

Rumbling over bridges. 
Whizzing through the mountains, 

Buzzing o'er the vale; 
Bless me ! this is pleasant, 

Riding on the Rail ! 



THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. 

A BALLAD. 

An Attorney was taking a turn. 
In shabby habiliments drest; 

His coat it was shockingly worn. 
And the rust had invested his 
vest. 

His breeches had suffered a breach. 
His linen and worsted were 



28 



LITTLE JERRY, TEE MiLLER. 



He had scarce a whole crown in 
his hat, 
And not half a crown in his 
purse. 

And thus as he wandered along, 
A cheerless and comfortless elf, 

He sought for relief in a song, 
Or complainingly talked to him- 
self: — 

" Unfortunate man that I am ! 

I 've never a client but grief: 
The case is, I 've no case at all. 

And in brief, I 've ne'er had a 
brief! 

" I 've waited and waited in vain. 
Expecting an ' opening' to find. 

Where an honest young lawyer 
might gain 
Some reward for toil of his mind. 

'"Tis not that I'm wanting in 
law. 

Or lack an intelligent face. 
That others have cases to plead. 

While I have to plead for a case. 

" 0, how can a modest young man 
E'er hope for the smallest pro- 
gression, — 
The profession 's already so full 
Of lawyers so full of profes- 
sion! " 

While thus he was strolling around. 
His eye accidentally fell 

On a very deep hole in the ground, 
And he sighed to himself, " It is 
well!" 

To curb his emotions, he sat 
On the curbstone the space of a 
minute. 
Then cried, " Here 's an opening at 
last!" 
And in less than a jiffy was in it ! 

Next morning twelve citizens came 
('T was the coroner bade them 
attend), 



To the end that it might be deter- 
mined 
How the man had determined 
his end ! 

" The man was a lawyer, I hear,*" 
Quoth the foreman who sat on 
the corse. 
" A lawyer? Alas! " said an- 
other, ; 
" Undoubtedly died of re- 
morse! " 

A third said, " He knew the de* 
ceased. 
An attorney well versed in the 
laws, 
And as to the cause of his death, 
'T was no doubt for the want of 
a cause." 

The jury decided at length, 
After solemnly weighing the 
matter, 
That the lawyer was drowncZed, 
because 
He could not keep his head above 
water ! 



LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER.* 

A BALLAD. 

Beneath the hill you may see the 
mill 
Of wasting wood and crumbling 
stone ; 

* Perhaps it may add a trifle to the 
interest of this ballad to know that 
the description, both of the man and 
the mill, is quite true. " Little Jer- 
ry " — a diminutive Frenchman of re- 
markable strength, wit, and good-na- 
ture — was for many years my father's 
miller in Highgate, Vermont. His sur- 
name was written " Goodheart " in 
the mill-books ; but he often told me 
that our English translation was quite 
too weak, as the real name was spelled 
" FortbonciBur." 



EOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. 



29 



The wheel is dripping and clatter- 
ing still, 
But Jerky, the miller, is dead 
and gone. 

Year after year, early and late, 
Alike in summer and winter 
weather, 
He pecked the stones and calked 
the gate, 
And mill and miller grew old 
together. 



Little Jerry! 
same, 



't was all the 



They loved him well who called 
him so; 
And whether he 'd ever another 
name, 
Nobody ever seemed to know. 

'T was, " Little Jerry, come grind 

my rye "; 
And, " Lfttle Jerry, come grind 

my wheat " ; 
And " Little Jerry " was still the 

From matron hold and maiden 
sweet. 

'T was " Little Jerry " on every 
tongue. 
And so the simple truth was 
told; 
For Jerry was little when he was 
young. 
And Jerry was little when he 
was old. 

But what in size he chanced to lack, 
That Jerry made up in being 
strong ; 
I 've seen a sack upon his back 
As thick as the miller, and quite 
as long. 

Always busy, and always merry, 
Always doing his very best. 



A notable wag was Little Jerry, 
Who uttered well his standing 
jest. 

How Jerry lived is known to fame. 

But how he died there 's none 

may know ; 

One autumn day the rumor came, 

" The brook and Jerry are very 

low." 

And then 't was whispered, mourn- 
fully, 
The leech had come, and he was 
dead; 
And all the neighbors flocked to 
see; 
"Poor little Jerry!" was all 
they said. 

They laid him in his earthy bed, — 
His miller's coat his only shroud ; 

" Dust to dust," the parson said. 
And all the people wept aloud. 

For he had shunned the deadly sin, 
And not a grain of over-toll 

Had ever dropped into his bin. 
To weigh upon his parting soul. 

Beneath the hill there stands the 
mill. 
Of wasting wood and crumbling 
stone ; 
The wheel is dripping and clatter- 
ing still, 
But Jerry, the miller, is dead 
and gone. 



HOW CYRUS LAID THE 
CABLE. 

A BALLAD. 

Come, listen all unto my song ; 

It is no silly fable ; 
'T is all about the mighty cord 

They call the Atlantic Cable. 



30 



WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. 



Bold Cyrus Field he said, says he, 

I have a pretty notion 
That I can run a telegraph 

Across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Then all the people laughed, and 
said, 

They 'd like to see him do it; 
He might get half-seas-over, but 

He never could go through it ; 

To carry out his foolish plan 
He never would be able ; 

He might as well go hang himself 
With his Atlantic Cable. 

But Cyrus was a valiant man, 

A fellow of decision ; 
And heeded not their mocking 
words, 

Their laughter and derision. 

Twice did his bravest efforts fail, 
And yet his mind was stable; 

He wa' n't the man to break his 
heart 
Because he broke his cable. 

"Once more, my gallant boys! " 
he cried ; 
" Three times ! — you know the 
fable, — 
(I '11 make it thirty,'^'' muttered he, 
" But I will lay the cable.! ") 

Once more they tried, — hurrah ! 
hurrah ! 
What means this great commo- 
tion V 
The Lord be praised! the cable's 
laid 
Across the Atlantic Ocean ! 

Loud ring the bells, — for, flashing 
through 

Six hundred leagues of water, 
Old Mother England's benison 

Salutes her eldest daughter! 



O'er all the land the tidings speed, 
And soon, in every nation, 

They '11 hear about the cable with 
Profoundest admiration ! 

Now, long live President and 
Queen; 
And long live gallant Cyrus; 
And may his courage, faith, and 
zeal 
With emulation fire us ; 

And may we honor evermore 
The manly, bold, and stable : 

And tell our sons, to make them 
brave, 
How Cyrus laid the cable ! 



WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE 
GODS. 

Full often I had heard it said, 
As something quite uncontro« 
verted, 
" The gods and goddesses are dead. 
And high Olympus is deserted " : 
And so, while "thinking of the gods, 
I made, one night, an explora- 
tion, 
(In fact or fancy, — where 's the 
odds?) 
To get authentic information. 

I found — to make a true report, 

As if I were a sworn committee — » 
They all had left the upper court, 

And settled in Manhattan city; 
Where now they live, as best they 
may. 

Quite unsuspected of their neigh- 
bors, 
And in a humbler sort of way, 

Repeat their old Olympic labors. 

In human frames, for safe disguise, 
They come and go through 
wooden portals, 



WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. 



31 



And to the keen Detective's eyes 
Seem nothing more than common 
mortals; 
For mortal-like they 're clad and 
fed, 
And, still to blind the sharp in- 
spector. 
Eat, for ambrosia, baker's bread, 
And tipple — everything but 
nectar. 

Great Jove, who wore the kingly 
crown. 
And used to make Olympus 
rattle. 
As if the sky was coming down. 
Or all the Titans were in bat- 
tle, — 
Is now a sorry playhouse wight. 
Content to make the groundlings 
wonder. 
And earn some shillings every 
night. 
By coining cheap theatric thun- 
der. 

Apollo, who in better times 

Was poet-laureate of th' Ely- 
sians. 
And, adding medicine to rhymes, 
Was chief among the court phy- 
sicians. 
Now cures disease of every 
grade, — 
Lucina's cares and Cupid's 
curses, — 
And, still to ply his double trade, 
Bepuffs his pills in doggerel 
verses ! 

Minerva, famous in her day 
For wit and war, — though often 
shocking 
The gods by overmuch display 
Of what they called her azure 
stocking, — 
Now deals in books of ancient kind 
(Where Learning soars and Fan- 
cy grovels), 



And, to indulge her warlike mind, 
Writes very sanguinary novels. 

And Venus, who on Ida's seat 
In myrtle-groves her charms 
paraded. 
Displays her beauty in the street. 
And seems, indeed, a little faded; 
She 's dealing in the clothing-line 
(If at her word you choose to 
take her). 
In Something Square you read the 
sign : — 
"Miss Cytherea, Mantua- 
maker." 

Mars figures still as god of war. 
But not with spear and iron 
hanger, 
Erect upon the ponderous car 
That rolled along with fearful 
clangor; 
Ah! no; ofsword and spear bereft, 
He stands beside his bottle- 
holder. 
And plumps his right ^ and plants 
his left, 
And strikes directly from the 
shoulder. 

And Bacchus, reared among the 
vines 
That flourished in the fields 
Elysian, 
And ruddy with the rarest wines 
That ever flashed upon the vis- 
ion, — 
A licensed liquor-dealer now, 
Sits pale and thin from over^ 
dosing 
With whisky, made — the deuce 
knows how. 
And brandy of his own compos- 
ing. 

And cunning Mercury, — what 
d' ye think 
Is now the nimble rogue's con- 
dition y 



32 



THE COLD-WATER MAN. 



Of course 't was but a step, to 
sink 
From Peter Funic to politician ; 
Though now he neither steals nor 
robs, 
But just secures a friend's elec- 
tion. 
And lives and thrives on little jobs 
Connected with the Street In- 
spection. 

Thus all the gods, in deep disguise, 

Go in and out of wooden portals, 
And, to the sharpest human eyes. 

Seem nothing more than com- 
mon mortals. 
And so they live, as best they m?ij, 

Quite unsuspected of their" neigh- 
bors. 
And, in a humbler sort of way, 

Eepeat their old Olympic labors. 



THE COLD-WATER MAN. 

A BALLAD. 

It was an honest fisherman, 
I knew him passing well, — 

And he lived by a little pond, 
Within a little dell. 

A grave and quiet man was he. 
Who loved his hook and rod, — 

So even ran his line of life, 
His neighbors thought it odd. 

For science and for books, he said 
He never had a wish, — 

No school to him was worth a fig. 
Except a school of fish. 

He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth. 
Nor cared about a name, — 

For though much famed for fish 
was he, 
He never fished for fame. 



Let others bend their necks at 
sight 
Of Fashion's gilded wheels. 
He ne'er had learned the art io 
"bob" 
For anything but eels. 

A cunning fisherman was he, 
His angles all were right ; 

The smallest nibble at his bait 
Was sure to prove " a bite " ! 

All day this fisherman would sit 

Upon an ancient log. 
And gaze into the water, like 

Some sedentary frog ; 

With all the seeming innocence, 
And that unconscious look. 

That other people often wear 
When they intend to " hook " ! 

To charm the fish he never spoke, — 
Although his voice was fine. 

He found the most convenient way 
Was just to drop a line. 

And many a gudgeon of the pond, 
If they could speak to-day. 

Would own, with grief, this angler 
had 
A mighty taking way. 

Alas ! one day this fisherman 
Had taken too much grog. 

And being but a landsman, too, 
He could n't keep the log. 

'T was all in vain with might and 
main 
He strove to reach the shore ; 
Down — down he went, to feed the 
fish 
He 'd baited oft before. 

The jury gave their verdict that 
'T was nothing else but gin 

Had caused the fisherman to be 
So sadly taken in; 



COMIC MISERIES. 



33 



Though one stood out upon a 
whim, 

And said the angler's slaughter, 
To be exact about the fact, 

Was, clearly, gin-and-z^'a^er / 

The moral of this mournful tale. 

To all is plain and clear, — 
That drinking habits bring a man 
I Too often to his bier ; 

And he who scorns to "take the 

pledge," 
[ And keep the promise fast. 
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff 
Cold-water man at last ! 



COMIC MISERIES. 



My dear young friend, whose shin- 
ing wit 
! Sets all the room ablaze, 
, Pon't think yourself " a happy 
I dog," 

For all your merry Avays ; 
But learn 'to wear a sober phiz, 

Be stupid, if you can. 
It 's such a very serious thing 
To be a funny man ! 

II. 

You 're at an evening party, with 

A group of pleasant folks, — 
You venture quietly to crack 

The least of little jokes: 
A lady doesn't catch the point, 

And begs you to explain, — 
Alas for one who drops a jest 

And takes it up again ! 



You 're talking deep philosophy 
' With very special force, 
} To edify a clergyman 
I With suitable discourse: 



You think you ' ve got him, — when 
he calls 
A friend across the way, 
And begs you'll say that funny 
thing 
You said the other day ! 



You drop a Y)retty jeii-de-mot 

Into a neighbor's ears. 
Who likes to give you credit for 

The clever thing he hears. 
And so he hawks your jest about, 

The old, authentic one. 
Just breaking off the point of it, 

And leaving out the pun ! 



By sudden change in politics, 
*0r sadder change in Polly, 
You lose your love, or loaves, and 
fall 
A prey to melancholy, 
While everybody marvels why 

Your mirth is under ban, 
They think your very grief " a 
joke," 
You 're such a funny man ! 



You follow up a stylish card 
That bids you come and dine, 

And bring along your freshest wit 
(To pay for musty wine); 

You 're looking very dismal, when 
My lady bounces in. 

And' wonders what you're think- 



li 



of, 



And why you don't begin! 



You 're telling to a knot of friends 

A fancy-tale of woes 
That cloiid your matrimonial sky, 

And banish all repose, — 
A solemn lady overhears 

The story of your strife, 



34 



A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. 



And tells the town the pleasant 
news : — 
You quarrel with your wife ! 

VIII. 

My dear young friend, whose shin- 
ing wit 

Sets all the room ablaze, 
Don't think yourself " a happy 
dog," 

For all your merry ways ; 
But learn to wear a sober phiz, 

Be stupid, if you can, 
It 's such a very serious thing 

To be a funny man ! 



A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. 

"Arcades ambo, 
jSt cantare pares et respondere parati." 

VniGiL 

HE. 

Much lately have I thought, my 

darling wife. 
Some simple rules might make our 

wedded life 
As t)leasant alwavs as a morn in 

May; 
I merely name it, — what does 

Molly say ? 

SHE. 

Agreed: your plan I heartily ap- 
prove ; 

Rules would be nice, — but who 
shall make them, love ? 

Nay, do not speak! — let this the 
bargain be, 

One shall be made by you, and one 
by me, 

Till all are done — 

HE. 

— Your plan is surely fair. 
In such a work 'tis fitting we 
should share ; 



And now — although it matters not j 
a pin — ; 

If you have no objection, I'll be- 
gin. 

SHE. 

Proceed ! In making laws I 'm 
little versed ; i 

And as to words, I do not mind the j 
first ; j 

I only claim — and hold the treas- | 
ure fast — 

My sex's sacred privilege, the last ! 



With all my heart. Well, dearest, 

to begin : — 
When by our cheerful hearth our 

friends drop in. 
And I am talking in my brilliant 

style 
(The rest with rapture listening the 

while) 
About the war, — or anything, in 

short, 
That you 're aware is my especial 

forte, — 
Pray don't get up a circle of your 

own. 
And talk of — bonnets, in an un- 
dertone ! 

SHE. 

That 's Number One; I '11 mind itj 

well, if you 
Will do as rnuch, my dear, by' 

Number Two: 
When we attend a party or a ball, 
Don't leave your Molly standing by 

the wall. 
The helpless victim of the dreariest 

bore 
That ever walked upon a parlor- 
floor, 
While you — oblivious of your 

spouse's doom — 
Flirt with the girls, — the gayest 

in the room ! 



SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. 



35 



When I (although the busiest man 

alive) 
Have snatched an hour to take a 

pleasant drive, 
And say, " Remember, at precisely 

four 
You '11 find the carriage ready at 

the door," 
Don't keep me waiting half an 

hour or so, 
And then declare, " The clock 

must be too slow ! " 



When you (such things have hap- 
pened now and then) 

Go to the Club with, " 1 '11 be back 
at ten," 

And stay till two o'clock, you 
needn't say, 

" I really was the first to come 
away; 

'T is very strange how swift the 
time has passed : 

I 'm sure, my dear, the clock must 
be too fast P^ 



There — that will do; what else 

remains to say 
We may consider at a future 

day; 
I 'm getting sleepy — and — if you 

have done — 

SHE. 

Not I! — this making rules is pre- 
cious fun ; 

Now here 's another : — When you 
paint to me 

" That charming woman " you are 
sure to see, 

Don't — when you praise the vir- 
tues she has got — 

Name only those you think your 
wife has not ! 



And here 's a rule I hope you won't 
forget, 

The most important I have men- 
tioned yet, — 

Pray mind it well : — Whenever 
you incline 

To bring your queer companions 
home to dine, 

Suppose, my dear, — Good Gra- 
cious ! he 's asleep ! 

Ah ! well, — 't is lucky good ad- 
vice will keep ; 

And he shall have it, or, upon my 
life, 

I 've not the proper spirit of a wife ! 



SOME PENCIL-PICTURES : 

TAKEN AT SARATOGA. 
I. 

Your novel-writers make their 

ladies tall ; 
I mean their heroines; as if, 

indeed, 
It were a fatal faihng to be small. 
In this, I own, we are not w'ell 

agreed, — 
I like a little woman, if she 's 

pretty, 
Modest and clever, sensible and 

witty. 



And such is she who sits beside 

me; fair 
As her deportment ; mine is not 

the pen 
To paint the glory of her Saxon 

hair. 
And eyes of heavenly azure! 

There are men 
Who doat on raven tresses, and are 

fond 
Of dark complexions, — I adore a 

blonde ! 



36 



SOME PENCII^PICTUREIS. 



III. 

There sits a woman of another 
type; 
Superb in figure and of stately- 
size; 

An Amazonian beauty round and 
ripe 
As Cytherea, — with delicious 
eyes 

That laugh or languish with a 
shifting hue 

Somewhat between a hazel and a 
blue. 

IV. 

Across the room — to please a 
daintier taste — 
A slender damsel flits with fairy 
tread ; 

A lover's hand might span her lit- 
tle waist. 
If so inclined, — that is, if they 
were wed. 

Some youths admire those fragile 
forms, I 've heard ; 

I never saw the man, upon my 
word! 

V. 

But styles of person, though they 

please me more, 
(As Nature's work) excite my 

wonder less 
Than all my curious vision may 

explore 
In moods and manners, equipage 

and dress ; 
The last alone were theme enough, 

indeed. 
For more than I could write, or you 

would read. 

VI. 

Swift satirized mankind with little 
ruth. 
And womankind as well ; but we 
must own 



His words of censure oft are very 

truth, — 
For instance, where the satirist, 

has shown 
How — thankless for the 

which they have got - 
All strive to show the talents 

— have not ! 



gift^ 
they^ 



Thus (it is written) Frederick the 

Great 
Cared little for the battles he 

had fought. 
But listened eagerly and all-elate 
To hear a courtier praise tha 

style and thought 
That graced his Sonnets; though^ 

in fact, his verse 
(I 've tried to read it) could n't well 

be worse ! 

VIII. 

The like absurd ambition you ma' 

note 
In fashionable women. Look 

you there ! 
Observe an arm which all (but she) 

must vote 
Extremely ugly; so she keepsf 

it bare 
(Lest so much beauty should esk 

cape the light) 
From wrist to shoulder, morning, 

noon, and night ! 

IX. 

Observe again (the girl who standa 
alone) 
How Pride reveals what Pru- 
dence would suppress ; 

A mere anatomy of skin -and- 
bone, — 
She Avears, perversely, a decoUetv 
dress ! 

Those tawny angles seek no friend- 
ly screen. 

But court tho day, and glory to be 
seem! 



THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. 



37 



X. 

Robert Burns ! if such a thing 

might be, 
That all by ignorance or folly 

blind, 
For once should "see themselves 

as others see, ' 
(As thou didst prav for hapless 

human kind,) 
What startled crowds would madly 

rush to hide 
The dearest objects of their fondest 

pride ! 



BOYS. 



" The proper study of majukind is 

man," — 
The most perplexing one- no doub*"-, 

is woman, 
The subtlest study that the mind 

can scan, 
Of all deep problems, heavenly or 

human ! 

But of all studies in the round of 
learning, 

From nature's marvels down to 
human toys. 

To minds well fitted for acute dis- 
cerning, 

The very queerest one is that of 
boys! 

If to ask questions that would puz- 
zle Plato, 

And all the schoolmen of the Mid- 
dle Age, — 

If to make precepts worthy of old 
Cato, 

Be deemed philosophy, your boy 's 
a sage ! 

If the possession of a teeming 

fancy, 
(Although, forsooth, the younker 

does n't know it,\ 



Which he can use in rarest necro- 
mancy, 

Be thought poetical, your boy 's a 
poet ! 

If a strong will and most Coura- 
geous bearing, 

If to be cruel as the Roman Nero ; 

If all that 's chivalrous, and all 
that 's daring. 

Can make a hero, then the boy 's 
a hero ! 

But changing soon with his in- 
creasing stature, 

The boy is lost in manhood's riper 
age, 

And with him goes his former 
triple nature, — 

No longer Poet, Hero, now, nor 
Sage! 



THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. 

"It is ascertaiued by inspection of 
the registers of many countries, that 
the uniform proportion of male to 
female births is as 21 to 20 : accord- 
ingly, in respect to marriage, every 21st 
man is naturally superfluous." — Trea- 
tise ON Population. 

I LONG have been puzzled to guess. 

And so I have frequently said, 
What the reason could reaUy be 

That I never have happened to 
wed; 
But now it is perfectly clear, 

I am under a natural ban ; 
The girls are already assigned, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

Those clever statistical chaps 
Declare the numerical run 

Of women and men in the world. 
Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one; 

And hence in the pairing, you see, 
Since wooing and wedding be« 
gan, 



38 



TOUJOURS LES FEMMES. 



For every connubial score, 
They ' ve got a superfluous man ! 

By twenties and twenties they go, 

And giddily rush to their fate, 
For none of the number, of course. 

Can fail of a conjugal mate ; 
But while they are yielding in 
scores 

To Nature's inflexible plan. 
There 's never a woman for me, — 

For I 'm a superfluous man ! 

It is n't that I am a churl. 

To solitude over-inclined ; 
It is n't that I am at fault 

In morals or manners or mind ; 
Then what is the reason, you ask, 

I 'm still with the bachelor-clan ? 
I merely was numbered amiss, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

It is n't that I am in want 

Of personal beauty or grace. 
For many a man with a wife 

Is uglier far in the face ; 
Indeed, among elegant men 

I fancy myself in the van ; 
But what is the value of that. 

When I 'm a superfluous man? 

Although I am fond of the girls. 

For aught I could ever discern 
The tender emotion I feel 

Is one that they never return ; 
'T is idle to quarrel with fate. 

For, struggle as hard as I can, 
They 're mated already, you 
know, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

No wonder I grumble at times. 

With women so pretty and 
plenty, 
To know that I never was born 

To figure as one of the Twenty; 
But yet, when the average lot 

With critical vision I scan, 
I think it may be for the best 

That I 'm a superfluous man! 



TOUJOURS LES FEMMES. 

I THINK it was a Persian king 

Who used to say, that ever-,, 
more 
In human life each evil thing I 

Comes of the sex that men adore; ' 
In brief, that nothing e'er befell 

To harm or grieve our hapless 
race, 
But, if you probe the matter well, 

You '11 find a woman in the case ! 

And then the curious tale is told 

How, when upon a certain night 
A climbing youngster lost his hold, 
And, falling from a ladder's 
height, 
Was found, alas! next morning 
dead, 
His Majesty, with solemn face, 
As was his wont, demurely said, 
" Pray, who 's the woman in the 
case V ' ' 

And how a lady of his court, 
Who deemed the royal whim 
absurd, 
Rebuked him, while she made re- 
port 
Of the mischance that late oc-; 
cur red; 
Whereat the king replied in glee, 
"I 've heard the story, please 
your Grace, 
And all the witnesses agree 
There was a woman in the case ! 

" The truth, your Ladyship, is this 

(Nor is it marvellous at all). 
The chap was climbing for a kiss, 

And got, instead, a fatal fall. 
Whene'er a man — as I have said — 

Falls from a ladder, or from 
grace, 
Or breaks his faith, or breaks his 
head. 

There is a woman in the case ! " 



THE COCKNEY. 



39 



For such a churlish, carping creed 

As that his Majesty professed, 
I hold him of unkingly breed, — 

Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest. 
To me, few things have come to 
pass 

Of good event, but I can trace, — 
Thanks to the matron or the lass, — 

Somewhere, a woman in the 



Yet once, while gayly strolling 
where 
A vast Museum still displays 
Its varied wealth of strange and 
rare. 
To charm, or to repel, the 
gaze, — 
I — to a lady (who denied 

The creed by laughing in my 
face) — 
Took up, for once, the Persian's 
side 
About a woman in the case- 
Discoursing thus, we came upon 
A grim Egyptian mummy — - 
dead 
Some centuries since. 'T is Pha- 
raoh's son. 
Perhaps ; who knows? " the 
lady said. 
No ! on the black sarcophagus 
A female name I stooped to 
trace. 
Toujours les femmes ! ' T is ever 
thus, — 
There was a woman in the case ! 



GIRLHOOD. 

With rosy cheeks, and merry- 
dancing curls, 

And eyes of tender light, 
0, very beautiful are little girls, 

And goodly to the sight ! 



Here comes a group to seek my 
lonely bower. 
Ere waning Autumn dies: 
How like the dew-drops on a droop- 
ing flower, 
Are smiles from gentle eyes ! 

What beaming gladness lights each 
fairy face 
The while the elves advance, 
Now speeding swiftly in a gleesome 
race. 
Now whirling in a dance ! 

What heavenly pleasure o'er the 
spirit roils. 
When all the air along 
Floats the sweet music of untainted 
souls. 
In bright, unsullied song 1 

The sacred nymphs that guard this 
sylvan ground 
May sport unseen with these, 
And joy to hear their ringing laugh 
resound 
Among the clustering trees ! 

With rosy cheeks, and merry-dan- 
cing curls, 

And eyes of tender light, 
0, very beautiful are little girls, 

And goodly to the sight ! 



THE COCKNEY. 

It was in my foreign travel, 

At a famous Flemish inn. 
That I met a stoutish person 

With a very ruddy skin ; 
And his hair was something sandy^ 

And was done in knotty curls, ' 
And was parted in the middle, 

In the manner of a girl's. 

He was clad in checkered trousers^ 
And his coat was of a sort 



40 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



To suggest a scanty pattern, 
It was bobbed so very short; 

And his cap was very little, 
Such as soldiers often use; 

And he wore a pair of gaiters, 
And extremely heavy shoes. 

I addressed the man in English, 

And he answered in the same, 
Though he spoke it in a fashion 

That I thought a little lame; 
For the aspirate was missing 

Where the letter should have 
been, 
But where'er it was n't wanted, 

He was sure to put it in ! 

When I spoke with admiration 

Of St. Peter's mighty dome. 
He remarked: " 'T is really noth- 
ing 

To the sights we 'ave at 'ome ! " 
And declared upon his honor, — 

Though, of course, 't was very 
queer, — 
That he doubted if the Romans 

'Ad the Aart of making beer! 

When I named the Colosseum, 

He observed, " 'T is very fair; 
I moan, ye know, it would be, 

If they 'd put it in repair; 
But what progress or /iimprove- 
ment 

Can those curst ^Italians 'ope 
While they 're Aunder the dominion 

Of that blasted muff, the Pope V " 

Then we talked of other countries, 

And he said that he had heard 
That jyamericans spoke J7inglish, 

But he deemed it quite ^absurd; 
Yet he felt the deepest /iinterest 

In the missionary work, 
And would like to know if Georgia 

Was in Boston or New York ! 

When I left the man-in-gaiters. 
He was grumbling, o'er his gin, 



\ 



At the charges of the hostess 
Of that famous Flemish inu; 

And he looked a very Briton, 
(So, methinks, I see him still) 

As he pocketed the candle 
That was mentioned in the bill! 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISAD- 
VENTURE. 



Captain Jones was five-feet ten, 
(The height of Chesterfield's 

gentlemen,) 
With a manly breadth of shoul- 
der; 
And Captain Jones was straight 

and trim, 
With nothing about him anywise 

slim, 
And had for a leg as perfect a limb 
As ever astonished beholder! 



With a calf of such a notable size 

'T would surely have taken the 
highest prize 
At any fair Fair in creation ; 

'T was just the leg for a prince to 
sport 

Who wished to stand at a Royal 
Court, 
At the head of Foreign Leg- 
ation ! 



And Captain Jones had an elegant 

foot, 
'T was just the thing for his patent 

boot, 
And could so prettily shove it, 
'T was a genuine pleasure to see it 

repeat 
In the public walks the Milonian 

feat 
Of bearing the calf above it ! 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



41 



But the Captain's prominent per- 
sonal charm 

Was neither his foot, nor leg, nor 
arm, 
Nor his very distingue air; 

Nor was it, although you 're think- 
ing upon 't, 

The front of his head, but his head 
and front 
Of beautiful coal-black hair ! 



So very bright was the gloss they 
had, 

'T would have made a rival raving 
mad 
To look at his raven curls ; 

Wherever he went, the Captain's 
hair 

Was certain to fix the public stare, 

And the constant cry was, " I de- 
clare! " 

And "Did you ever! " and "Just 
look there! " 
Among the dazzled girls. 

VI. 

Now Captain Jones was a master 

bold 
Of a merchant-ship some dozen 

years old, 
And every name could have easily 

told, 
(And never confound the "hull " 

and the " hold," 
Throughout her inventory ; 
And he had travelled in foreign 

parts, 
And learned a number of foreign 

arts. 
And played the deuce with foreign 

hearts, 
As the Captain told the story. 



He bad learned to chatter the 
French and Spanish, 



To splutter the Dutch, and mutter 
the Danish, 
In a way that sounded oracu- 
lar; 

Had gabbled among the Portu- 
guese ; 

And caught the Tartar, or, rather, 
a piece 

Of "broken China," it wasn't 
Chinese, 
Any more than his own vernac- 
ular! 

VIII. 

How Captain Jones was wont to 
shine 

In the line of ships ! (not Ships of 
the Line,) 

How he 'd brag of the water over 
his wine. 
And of woman over the water ! 

And then, if you credit the Cap- 
tain's phrase. 

He was more expert in such queer 
ways 

As "doubling capes" and "put' 
ting in stays," 
Than any milliner's daughter! 

IX. 

Now the Captain kept in constant 

A single Mate, as a Captain may 

(In a nautical, not in a naughty 
way. 
As " mates " are sometimes car- 
ried); 

But to hear him prose of the squalls 
that arose 

In the dead of the night to break 
his repose. 

Of white-caps and cradles, and 
such things as those, 

And of breezes that ended in reg- 
ular blows. 
You'd have sworn the Captain 
■was married ! 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



The Captain's morals were fair 
enough, 

Though a sailor's life is rather 
rough, 
By dint of the ocean's force; 

And that one who makes so many, 
in ships, 

Should make, upon shore, occa- 
sional "trips," 
Seems quite a matter of course. 

XI. 

And Captain Jones was stiff as a 

post 
To the vulgar fry, but among the 

most 
Genteel and polished, ruled the 

roast, 
As no professional cook could 

boast 
That ever you set your eye on ; 
Indeed, 't was enough to make him 

vain, 
For the pretty and proud confessed 

his reign, 
And Captain Jones, in manners 

and mane. 
Was deemed a genuine lion. 

XII. 

And the Captain revelled early and 

late. 
At the balls and routs of the rich 

and great. 
And seemed the veriest child of 

fetes, 
Though merely a minion of 

pleasure; 
And he laughed with the girls in 

merry sport. 
And paid the mammas the civilest 

court. 
And drank their wine, whatever 

the sort, 
By the nautical rule of " Any 

port — " 
You may add the rest at leisure. 



Miss Susan Brown was a dashing 

girl 
As ever revolved in the waltz's 

whirl, 
Or twinkled a foot in the polka's 

twirl, 
By the glare of spermaceti ; 
And Susan's form was trim and 

slight. 
And her beautiful skin, as if in 



Of her dingy name, was exceed- 
ingly white. 

And her azure eyes were "spark'- 
ling and bright," 
And so was her favorite ditty. 

XIV. 

And Susan Brown had a score of 

names. 
Like the very voluminous Mr. 

James 
(Who got at the Font his strongest 

claims 
To be reckoned a Man of Let- 
ters); 
But thinking the task will hardly 

please 
Scholars who 've taken the higher 

degrees. 
To be set repeating their A, B, C's, 
I choose to reject such fetters as 

these. 
Though merely Nominal fetters. 

XV. 

The patronymical name of the maid 
Was so completely overlaid 

With a long praenominal cover. 
That if each additional proper 

noun 
Was laid with additional emphasis 

down, 
Miss Susan was done uncommonly 

Brown, 
The moment her christ'ning was 

over ! 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



43 



XVI. 

And Susan was versed in modern 
romance, 

In the Modes of Murray and 
Modes of France, 

And had learned to sing and learned 
to dance, 
In a style decidedly pretty; 

And Susan was versed in classical 
lore, 

In the works of Horace, and sev- 
eral more 

Whose opera now would be voted 
a bore 
By the lovers of Donizetti. 

XVII. 

And Susan was rich. Her prov- 
ident sire 

Had piled the dollars up higher 
and higher. 
By dint of his personal labors, 

Till he reckoned at last a sufficient 
amount 

To be counted, himself, a man of 
account 
Among his affluent neighbors. 

XVIII. 

By force of careful culture alone, 
Old Brown's estate had rapidly 
grown 
A plum for his only daughter; 
And, after all the fanciful dreams 
Of golden fountains and golden 

streams. 
The sweat of patient labor seems 
The true Pactolian water. 

XIX. 

And while your theorist worries 

his mind 
In hopes the magical stone to 

find, 
By some alchemical gammon, 
Practical people, by regular 

knocks, I 



Are filling their "pockets full of 
rocks " 
From the golden mountain of 
Mammon ! 

XX. 

With charms like these, you may 

well suppose 
Miss Susan Brown had plenty of 

beaux. 
Breathing nothing but passion ; 
And twenty sought her hand to 

gain. 
And twenty sought her hand in 

vain, 
Were "cut," and didn't "come 

again," 
In the Ordinary fashion. 

XXI. 

Captain Jones, by the common 

voice. 
At length was voted the man of her 

choice, 
And she his favorite fair; 
It was n't the Captain's manly 

face. 
His native sense, nor foreign grace, 
That took her heart from its proper 

place 
And put it into a tenderer case. 
But his beautiful coal-black 

hair! 

XXII. 

How it is, why it is, none can tell, 
But all philosophers know full well, 

Though puzzled about the ac- 
tion, 
That of all the forces under the sun 
You can hardly find a stronger one 

Than capillary attraction. 



The locks of canals are strong as 
rocks ; 

And wedlock is strong as a bank- 
er's box; 



44 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



And there 's strength in the locks 

a Cockney cocks 
At innocent birds, to give himself 

knocks ; 
In the locks of safes, and those 

safety-locks 
They call the Permutation ; 
But of all the locks that ever were 

made 
In Nature's shops, or the shops of 

trade, 
The subtlest combination 
Of beauty and strength is found in 

those 
Which grace the heads of belles 

and beaux 
In every civilized nation ! 

XXIV. 

The gossips whispered it through 
the town. 

That Captain Jones loved Susan 
Bkown ; 
But, speaking with due preci- 
sion. 

The gossips' tattle was out of joint, 

For the lady's " blunt " was the 
only point 
That dazzled the lover's vision! 

XXV. 

And the Captain begged, in his 
smoothest tones, 

Miss Susan Brown to be Mistress 
Jones, — 

Flesh of his flesh and bone of his 
bones. 
Till death the union should sev- 
er; 

For these are the words employed, 
of course. 

Though Death is cheated, some- 
times, by Divorce, 

A fact which gives an equivocal 
force 
To that beautiful phrase, " for- 
ever! " 



XXVI. 

And Susan sighed the conven- 
tional "Nay " 

In such a bewitching, affirmative 
way. 

The Captain perceived 'twas the 
feminine " Ay," 
And sealed it in such commo- 
tion. 

That no " lip-service " that ever 
was paid 

To the ear of a god, or the cheek 
of a maid, 
Looked more like real devotion ! 



And Susan's Mamma made an 

eleganty«?7e. 
And exhibited all the family plate, 

In honor of Susan's lover; 
For now 't was settled, another 

trip 
Over the sea in his merchant-ship. 
And his bachelor-ship was over. 

XXVIII. 

There M-as an Alderman, well to do. 
Who was fond of talking about 

vertu, 
And had, besides, the genuine gout^ 

If one might credit his telling; 
And the boast was true beyond a 

doubt 
If he had only pronounced it 
" gout," 
According to English spelling ! 

XXIX. 

A crockery-merchant of great pa- 
rade, 

Always boasting of having made 

His large estate in the China trade; 
Several affluent tanners ; 

A lawyer, whose most important 
" case" 

Was that which kept his books in 
place ; 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



45 



His wife, a lady of matchless 
grace, 

Who bought her form, and made 
her face, 
And plainly borrowed her man- 
ners ; 

XXX. 

A druggist ; an undevout divine ; 
A banker, who'd got as rich as a 

mine 
"In the cotton trade and sugar 

line," 
Along the Atlantic border ; 
A doctor, fumbling his golden 



And an landertaker close at his 
heels, 
Quite in the natural order ! 

XXXI. 

People of rank, and people of 

wealth, 
Plethoric people in delicate health 
\\Vho fast in public, and feast by 

stealth), 
And people slender and hearty 
Flocked in so fast, 'twas plain to 

the eye 
Of any observer standing by, 
That party-spirit was running 

high. 
And this was the popular party ! 

XXXII. 

To tell what griefs and woes betide 
The hapless world, from female 
pride. 
Were a long and dismal story ; 
Alas for Susan and womankind ! 
A sudden ambition seized her 
mind, 
In the height of her party-glory. 



To pique a group of laughing girls 
Who stood admiring the Captain's 
curls. 



She formed the resolution 
To get a lock of her lover's hair. 
In the gaze of the guests assembled 

there. 
By some expedient, foul or fair, 

Before the party's conclusion. 

XXXIV. 

"Only a lock, dear Captain! no 

more, 
' A lock for memory,' I implore ! " 
But Jones, the gayest of quiz- 

zers. 
Replied, as he gave his eye a 

cock, 
" 'T is a treacherous memory 

needs a lock," 
And dodged the envious scissors. 

XXXV. 

Alas that Susan could n't refrain. 
In her zeal the precious lock to 

gain. 
From laying her hand on the lion's 

mane! 
To see the cruel mocking. 
And hear the short, affected cough, 
The general titter, and chuckle, 

and scoff. 
When the Captain's Patent Wig 

came off, 
Was really dreadfull}'- shocking! 

XXXVI. 

Of Susan's swoon, the tale is 
told. 

That long before her earthly 
mould 
Regained its ghostly tenant. 

Her luckless, wigl'ess, loveless 
lover 

Was on the sea, and " half-seas- 
over," 

Dreaming that some piratical 
rover 
Had carried away his Pennant/ 



46 



MIRALDA : 

A TALE OF CUBA.l 
I. 

In Cuba, when that lovely land 

Saw Tacon reigning in his glory, 
How Justice held, at his com- 
mand, 
ler balance with an even hand — 
Learn while you listen to my 
story. 

II. 

Miralda — such her maiden 
name — 
Was poor and fair, and gay and 
witty, 
Yet in Havana not a dame 
In satin had a fairer fame. 
Or owned a face one half so 
pretty. 

III. 

For years she plied her humble 
trade 
(To sell cigars was her vocation), 
And many a gay gallant had paid 
More pounds to please the hand- 
some maid 
Than pence to buy his soul's 
salvation. 

IV. 

But though the maiden, like the 
sun, 
Had smiles for every transient 
rover, 
Her smiles were all the bravest 

won ; 
Miralda gave her heart to none 
Save Pedro, her affianced lover; 

V. 

Pedro, a manly youth who bore 
His station well as labor's vas- 
sal, 
The while he plied a nimble oar 



MIRALDA. 
For 



passengers, 
shore. 
Between the 
Castle. 



from shore to 
Punta and the 



VI. 

The handsome boatman she had 
learned 
To love with fondest, truest 
passion ; 
For him she saved the gold she 

earned ; 
For him Miralda proudly spurned 
The doubtful suit of men of 
fashion. 

VII. 

Of these — a giddy, gaudy train, 
Strict devotees of wanton Pleas- 
ure — 
Gay Count Almonte sought to 

gain 
Miralda's love; but all in vain; 
Her heart was still her Pedro'* 
treasure. 

VIII. 

At last the Count, in sheer df- 
spair 
Of gaining aught by patient 
suing, 

Contrived — the wretch ! — a cun- 
ning snare. 

By wicked force to win and wear 

The prize that spurned his gentler 
wooing. 

IX. 

One day a dashing Captain came. 
Before the morning sun had 
risen, 
And, bowing, begged to know her 

name. 
"Miralda." "Faith! it is the 
same. 
Here, men, conduct the girl to 
prison! " 



MIRALDA. 



47 



"By whose authority? " she said. 

"The Governor's!" "Nay, 
then 'tis folly 
To question more." She dropped 

her head, 
And followed where the Captain 
led, 
O'erwhelmed with deepest mel- 
ancholy. 



The prison seems a league or more 
From poor Miralda's humble 
shanty ; 
Was e'er such treachery before? 
The Count Almonte's at the door, 
To hand her down from the 
volantd ! 



"Ah, coward! " cried the angry 
maid; 
*' This scurvy trick ! If Tacon 
knew it, 

Your precious ' Captain,' I 'm 
afraid, 

Would miss, for once, his dress- 
parade ! 
Kelease me, Count, or you may 
rue it!" 



"Nay," said the Count, "that 
may not be ; 
I cannot let you go at present ; 
I '11 lock you up awhile," said he; 
" If you are lonely, send for me ; 
I '11 try to make your prison 
pleasant." 

XIV. 

Poor Pedro! guess the lad's dis- 
may. 
His stark astonishment, at learn- 
ing 

His lady-love had gone away 



(But how or whither none could 
say), 
And left no word about return- 
ing! 

XV. 

The man who wrote that " Love is 
blind" 
Could ne'er have known a gen- 
uine lover; 
Poor Pedro gave his anxious mind 
Miralda's hiding-place to find, 
And found it ere the day was 
over. 

XVI. 

Clad in a friar's garb, he hies 
At night to where his love is 
hidden, 
And, favored by his grave disguise, 
He learns that she is safe, — and 
flies, 
As he had entered, unforbidden. 

XVII. 

What could he do? he pondered 
long 
On every plausible suggestion. 
Alas ! the rich may do a wrong. 
And buy their quittance WKh a 
song. 
If any dare the deed to question I 

XVIII. 

" Yet Rumor whispered long ago 
(Although she 's very fond of 
lying), 
' Tacon loves justice ! ' May be 

so; 
Quien sabe ? Let his answet 
show ! 
I '11 go and see; it is but try- 
ing!" 

XIX. 

And, faith, the boatman kept his 
word; 
To Tacon he the tale related, 



48 



Which, when the Governor 

heard, 
With righteous wrath his breast 

was stirred. 
*' Swear, boy," he said, " to what 

you 've stated! " 



pe took the oath, and straight be- 
gan 
For speedy justice to implore 
him: 

Great Tacon frowned, " Be silent, 
man! " 

Then called the guard : away they 
ran. 
And soon the culprit stood before 
him! 

XXI. 

Miralda too was standing near, 
To witness to his dark transgres- 
sion. 
" Know you, my lord, why j'ou 

are here? " 
" Yes, Excellencia, it is clear 
That I must plead an indiscre- 
tion." 

XXII. 

" The uniform your servants wore 
In this affair j — how came they 
by it ? 
Whose sword was that your Cap- 
tain bore V 
The crime is grave." "Nay, I 
implore 
Your clemency; I can't deny 
it." 

XXIII. 

■■* This damsel here, — has any 
stain 
By act of yours been put upon 
her? " 
" No, Excellencia; all in vain 
Were bribes and threats her will 
to gala, — 
I here declare it on my honor ! " 



MIRALDA. 

had 



I 



XXIV. 

" Enough ! " the Go vernor repliedf. 

And added, in a voice of thunder, 

" Go, bring a Priest ! " What can 

betide ? 
To shrive ? to wed ? who can de- 
cide? 
All stood and mused in silent 
wonder. 



The Priest was brought, — a rev- 
erend head. 
His hands witn holy emblems 
laden. 
" Now, Holy Father, please to wed. 
And let the rite be quickly sped, 
Senor Almonte and this maid- 



XXVI. 

Poor Pedro stood aghast ! With fear 
And deep dismay Miralda trem- 
bled; 
While Count Almonte, thus to hear 
The words of doom that smote his 
ear, 
His sudden horror ill dissembled. 

XXVII. 

Too late ! for in that presence none 

Had dared a whisper of negation. 

The words were said; the deed 

was done ; 
The Church had joined the two in 
one 
Ere they had breath for lamen- 
tation ! 

XXVIII. 

The Count rode off with drooping 
head. 
Cursing his fortune and his folly ; 
But ere a mile his steed had sped, 
A flash ! — and lo ! the Count is 
dead. 
Slain by a murderous leaden vol- 
ley. 



LE JARDJN MABILLE. 



49 



XXIX. 

Soon came the officer who bore 
The warrant of his execution, 

With, "Excellencia, all is o'er; 

Senor Almonte is no more ; 
Sooth ! — 't was a fearful retri- 
bution! " 

XXX. 

" Now let the herald," Tacon said, 
"(That none these doings may 
disparage, ) 
Proclaim Senor Almonte dead ; 
And that Miralda take, instead. 
His lands, now hers by lawful 
marriage! " 



And so it was the lovers came 
To happiness beyond their 
dreaming. 
And ever after blessed the name 
Of him who spared a maiden's 
shame. 
And spoiled a villain's wicked 
Scheming. 



LE JARDIN MABILLE. 



Should you e'er go to France — 
as of course you intend — 

(Though the Great Exposition is 
now at an end, ) 

And in Paris should stroll — as 
I 'm certain you will — 

In the Gardens adorned with such 
exquisite skill 

To call them " Elysian " is scarcely 
to reach 

What the grammars entitle a 
" figure of speech," — 

Don't fail, ere you go, for a mo- 
ment to steal 

A look at the spot called the Jardin 
Mabille, 
4 



'T is a place of enchantment! a 

rural retreat 
Where Nature and Art in such 

harmony meet 
To form an Elysium of music and 

flowers. 
Of moss-covered grottos and fairy- 
like bowers, 
Where lamps blaze in tulips, and 

glow-worms of gas 
Illumine the roses and gleam in the 

grass, — 
That, merely to see it, one cannot 

but feel 
If there 's Heaven on Earth, 't is 

the Jardin Mabille ! 



But wait until midnight, or, say, 

one o'clock. 
When hither by hundreds the cit- 
izens flock, 
And strangers unnumbered are 

strolling around 
In the serpentine walks of the 

beautiful ground; 
Just wait, if you please, till the 

dance is begun, 
And then, at the height of the 

frolic and fun. 
Pray look where the bacchanals 

caper and reel, 
And say what you think of the 

Jardin Mabille .' 



The music — the maddest that ever 
you heard — 

Strikes up from the stand, and 
away, at the word. 

The dancers revolve, — 't is the 
waltz, that is all ; 

The same you have witnessed at 
many a ball. 

There 's nothing extremely sur- 
prising in this, 



50 



THE BEAUTY OF BALLS TON. 



The motion is swift, but there 's 

little amiss; 
You merely remark, *' There is 

plenty of zeal 
In the dancers who dance in the 

Jardin Mabille!''^ 



But see! where the people are 
closing about 

Two brazen-browed women; and 
hark to the shout, 

" La Can-can ! — they 're at it ! " 
— No wonder you stare, 

One foot on the pavement, — now 
two in the air! 

A Cockney, intent on this rarest 
of shows, 

Retreats from the shoe that is graz- 
ing his nose ! 

Good lack ! till he dies, he '11 re- 
member the heel 

That spoiled his new hat in the 
Jardin Mabille I 



There 's drinking and gaming at 

many a stand ; 
There 's feasting and flirting on 

every hand ; 
The Paphian queen, it were easy 

to tell, 
Is the Abbess, to-night, of yon an- 
chorite cell; 
And the marvelling Turk (for the 

Sultan is here ! ) 
Cries, ^^ Allah! Meshallah! these 

Christians are queer ! 
'Such orgies as these very plainly 

reveal 
Why they donH take their wives 

to the Jardin Mabille ! " 



" A pity ! " you sigh, — and a pity 

it is 
Such revels should shame such a 

garden as this ; 



Where all that is charming in 
Nature and Art 

Serves only to sully and harden 
the heart. 

"The Devil's own hot-house!" 
you musingly say, 

While turning in sadness and sor- 
sow away ; 

Reflecting that Sin — as you po- 
tently feel — 

Is the thriftiest plant in the Jardin 
Mabille ! 
1867. 



THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. 

AFTER PRAED.2 

In Ballston — once a famous spot. 
Ere Saratoga came in fashion — 
I had a transient fit of what 
The j)oets call the " tender pas- 
sion "; 
In short, when I was young and 
gay, 
And Fancy held the throne of 
Reason, 
I fell in love with Julia May, 
The reigning beauty of the sea- 
son. 

Her eyes were blue, and such a 
pair! 
No star in heaven was ever 
brighter; 
Her skin was most divinely fair; 
I never saw a shoulder whiter. 
And there was something in her 
form 
{Juste en-bon-point^ I think they 
term it} 
That really was enough to warm 
The icy bosom of a hermit ! 

In sooth, she was a witching girl, 
And even women called her 
pretty, 



THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. 



51 



Who saw her in the waltz's whirl, 
Beneath the glare of spermaceti ; 
Or if they carped — as Candor 
must 
When wounded pride and envy 
rankle — 
'T was only that so full a bust 
Should heave above so trim an 
ankle ! 

One eve, remote from festive mirth, 
We talked of Nature and her 
treasures ; 
I said: — "Of all the joys of 
earth, 
Pray name the sweetest of her 
pleasures." 
She gazed with rapture at the 
moon 
That struggled through the 
spreading beeches. 
And answered thus: — "A grove 
— at noon — 
A friend — and lots of cream and 
peaches! " 

I spoke of trees, — the stately 
oak 
That stands the forest's royal 
leader; 
The whispering pine; and then I 
spoke 
Of Lebanon's imperial cedar; 
The maple of our colder clime ; 
The elm with branches inter- 
meeting, — 
She thought the palm must be 
sublime, 
And — dates were very luscious 
eating! 
I talked about the sea and sky. 
And spoke, with something like 
emotion, 
Of countless pearly gems that lie 
Ungathered by the sounding 
ocean. 
She smiled, and said, (was it in 
jestV) 



Of all the shells that Nature 

boasted 
She thought that oysters were the 

best, 
"And, dearest, don't you love 

'em roasted ! " 

I talked of books and classic 
lore ; 
I spoke of Cooper's latest fie 
tion, 
Recited melodies from Mooi"e, 
And lauded Irving's charming 
diction ; — 
She sat entranced ; then raised 
her head, 
And with a smile that seemed 
of heaven, 
*' We must return," the siren said, 
"Or we shall lose the lunch at 
'leven I " 

I can't describe the dreadful 
shock. 
The mingled sense of love and 

pity, 

With which, next day, at ten 
o'clock, 
I started for Manhattan city ; 
'T was years ago, — that sad 
" Good by," 
Yet o'er the scene fond memory 
lingers ; 
I see the crystals in her eye, 
And berry-stains upon her fin- 
gers! 

Ah me ! of so much loveliness 
It had been sweet to be the winr 
ner ; 
I know she loved me only less — 
The merest fraction — than her 
dinner. 
'T was hard to lose so fair a prize, 
But then (I thought) 'twere 
vastly harder 
To have before my jealous eyes 
A constant rival in my larder! 



52 



A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. 



WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY. 

When do I mean to marry V — 
Well, 

'T is idle to dispute with fate ; 
But if you choose to hear me tell, 

Pray listen while I fix the date. 

When daughters haste, with eager 
feet, 
A mother's daily toil to share; 
Can make the puddings which 
they eat. 
And mend the stockings which 
they wear: 

When maidens look upon a man 
As in himself what they would 
marry, 

And not as army-soldiers scan 
A sutler or a commissary ; 

When gentle ladies, who have got 
The offer of a lover's hand, 

Consent to share his earthly lot. 
And do not mean his lot of land ; 

When yoimg mechanics are al- 
lowed 
To find and wed the farmers' girls 
Who don't expect to be endowed 
With rubies, diamonds, and 
pearls ; 

When wives, in short, shall freely 
give 
Their hearts and hands to aid 
their spouses. 
And live as they were wont to live 
Within their sires' one-story 
houses ; 

Then, madam, — if I'm not too 
old,— 
Rejoiced to quit this lonely life, 
I 'II brush my beaver ; cease to 
scold ; 
And look about me for a wife ! 



A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. 

'T IS twenty years, and something 
more, 
Since, all athirst for useful 
knowledge, 
I took some draughts of classic 
lore, 

Drawn very mild, at rd 

College ; 
Yet I remember all that one 
Could wish to hold in recol- 
lection; 
The boys, the joys, the noise, the 
fun ; 
But not a single Conic Section. 

I recollect those harsh affairs, 
The morning bells that gave us 
panics; 
I recollect the formal prayers, 
That seemed like lessons in Me- 
chanics; 
I recollect the drowsy way 

In which the students listened 
to them. 
As clearly, in my wig, to-day, 
As when, a boy, I slumbered 
through them. 

I recollect the tutors all 

As freshly now, if I may say so, 
As any chapter I recall 

In ftomer or Ovidius Naso. 
I recollect, extremely well, 

" Old Hugh," the mildest of 
fanatics ; 
I well remember Matthew Bell, 

But very faintly. Mathematics. 

I recollect the prizes paid 

For lessons fathomed to the 
bottom ; 
(Alas that pencil-marks should 
fade!) 
I recollect the chaps who got 
'em, — 
The light equestrians who soared 



! 



THE KNOWING CHILD. 



53 



O'er every passage reckoned 

stony ; 
And took the chalks, — but never 

scored 
A single honor to the pony ! 

Ah me! what changes Time has 
wrought, 
And how predictions have mis- 
carried ! 
A few have reached the goal they 
sought, 
And some are dead, and some 
are married I 
And some in city journals war ; 

And some as politicians bicker; 
And some are pleading at the 
bar — 
For jury-verdicts, or for liquor! 

And some on Trade and Commerce 
wait; 
And some in schools with dunces 
battle; 
And some the Gospel propagate ; 
And some the choicest breeds of 
cattle ; 
And some are living at their ease ; 
And some were wrecked in " the 
revulsion " ; 
Some serve the State for handsome 
fees, 
And one, I hear, upon compul- 
sion ! 

Lamont, who, in his college days. 
Thought e'en a cross a moral 
scandal, 
Has left his Puritanic ways. 
And worships now with bell and 
candle; 
And Maxn, who mourned the ne- 
gro's fate. 
And held the slave as most 
unlucky, 
Now holds him, at the market 
rate. 
On a plantation in Kentucky I 



Tom Knox — who swore in such 
a tone 
It fairly might be doubted 
whether 
It really was himself alone. 

Or Knox and Erebus together — 
Has grown a very altered man. 
And, changing oaths for mild 
entreaty, 
Now recommends the Christian 
plan 
To savages in Otaheite ! 

Alas for young ambition's vow! 
How envious Fate may over- 
throw it ! — 
Poor Harvey is in Congress now, 
Who struggled long to be a poet ; 
Smith carves (quite well) memo- 
rial stones, 
"Who tried in vain to make the 
law go; 
Hall deals in hides; and " Piou3 
Jones " 
Is dealing faro in Chicago! 

And, sadder still, the brilliant 
Hays, 
Once honest, manly, and ambi- 
tious, 
Has taken latterly to ways 
Extremely profligate* and vi- 
cious; 
By slow degrees — I can't tell 
how — 
He 's reached at last the very 
groundsel, 
And'in New York he figures now, 
A member of the Common Coun- 
cil! 



THE KNOWING CHILD. 

" L' Enfent terrible ! " 

" Mais, gardez vouz, mon cher,* 
she said. 
And then the mother smiled; 



54 



IDEAL AND REAL. 



'• Speak very softly, if you please, 
He 's such a knowing child ! " 

My simple sister spoke the truth ; 
There is n't, I suppose, 

A thing on earth he should n't 
know- 
But what that urchin knows ! 

And all he knows the younker tells 
In such a knowing way ; 

For what he knows, you may be 
sure. 
He does not fear to say. 

He knows he is an arrant churl, 
Although he looks so mild ; 

And — worst of all — full well he 
knows 
He is a knowing child. 

He knows — I've often told hira 
so — 

I am averse to noise ; 
He knows his uncle is n't fond 

Of martial little boys ; 

And that, no doubt, is why he 
pounds 
His real soldier drum 
Beneath my window, morn and 
night, 
Until my ear is numb ! 

He knows my age — that dreadful 
boy — 

Exactly to a day ; 
He knows precisely why my locks 

Have not a thread of gray. 

He knows — and says ( what shock- 
ing talk 
For one so very small ! ) 
My head — without my curly 
scratch — 
Looks like a billiard ball ! 

He knows that Mary's headache 
means 
She does n't wish to go; 



And lets the sacred secret out 
Before her waiting beau ! 

He knows why Clara always 
coughs 
When she is asked to sing; 
He knows (and blabs ! ) that Julia's 
bust 
Is not the real thing ! 

He knows about the baby too ; 

Though he has often heard 
The nurse's old, convenient tale, 

He don't believe a word. 

And when those ante-natal caps 
Their future use disclose, 

He knows again — the knowing 
imp — 
Just what his uncle knows ! 

Ah! well; no doubt, what Time 
may bring 
'T is better not to see; 
I know not what the changeful 
Fates 
^lay have in store for me ; 

But if within the nuptial noose 
My neck should be beguiled, 

Heaven save the house from child- 
lessness 
And from a knowing child ! 



IDEAL AND REAL. 

IDEAL. 

Some years ago, when I was 
young. 
And" Mrs. Jones was Miss De- 
lancy ; 
When wedlock's canopy was hung 
With curtains from the loom of 
fancy ; 
I used to paint my future life 
With most poetical precision, — 



THE GAME OF LIFE. 



65 



My special wonder of a wife ; 
My happy days; my nights 
Elysian. 

I saw a lady, rather small 
(A Juno was my strict abhor- 
rence), 
With flaxen hair, contrived to fall 
In careless ringlets, a la Law- 
rence ; 
A blond complexion; eyes that 
drew 
From autumn clouds their azure 
brightness ; 
The foot of Hebe ; arms whose hue 
Was perfect in its milky white- 
ness ! 

I saw a party, quite select, — 
There might have been a baker's 
dozen ; 
A parson, of the ruling sect; 

A bridemaid, and a city cousin; 
A formal speech to me and mine, 
(Its meaning I could scarce dis- 
cover ; ) 
A taste of cake; a sip of wine; 
Some kissing — and the scene 
was over ! 

I saw a baby — one — no more ; 

A cherub pictured, rather faint- 
ly, 
Beside a pallid dame who wore 

A countenance extremely saint- 

I saw, — but nothing could I hear, 
Except the softest prattle,maybe, 

The merest breath upon the ear, — 
So quiet was that blessed baby ! 

REAL,. 

I see a woman, rather tall. 

And yet, I own, a comely lady ; 

Complexion — such as I must call 
(To be exact) a little shady; 

i. hand not handsome, yet con- 
fessed 
A generous one for love or pity ; 



A nimble foot, and — neatly 
dressed 
In No. 5 — extremely pretty! 

I see a group of boys and girls 
Assembled round the knee pater- 
nal 
With ruddy cheeks and tangled 
curls. 
And manners not at all supernal. 
And one has reached a manly size ; 
And one aspires to woman's 
stature ; 
And one is quite a recent prize, 
And all abound in human na- 
ture! 

The boys are hard to keep in trim ; 

The girls are often rather trying; 
And baby — like the cherubim — 

Seems very fond of steady cry- 
ing! 
And yet the precious little one, 

His mother's dear, despotic mas- 
ter. 
Is worth a thousand babies done 

In Parian or in alabaster ! 

And oft that stately dame and I, 
When laughing o'er our early 
dreaming, 
And marking, as the years go by, 
How idle was our youthful 
scheming, 
Confess the wiser Power that knew 

How Duty every joy enhances, 
And gave us blessings rich and 
true. 
And better far than all our fan- 



THE GAME OF LIFE. 

A HOMILY. 

There 's a game much in fashion, 
— I think it 's called Euchre^ 

(Though I never have played it, foi 
pleasure or lucre, ) 



56 



THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER. 



In which, when the cards are in 
certain conditions, 

The players appear to have 
changed their positions, 

And one of them cries, in a confi- 
dent tone, 

"I think I may venture to go it 
alone ! 

While watching the game, 'tis a 

whim of the bard's 
A moral to draw from that skirmish 

of cards. 
And to fancy he finds in the trivial 

strife' 
Some excellent hints for the battle 

of Life ; 
Where — whether the prize be a 

ribbon or throne — 
The winner is he who can go it 

alone ! 

When great Galileo proclaimed 

that the world 
In a regular orbit was ceaselessly 

whirled, 
And got — not a convert — for all 

of his pains. 
But only derision and prison and 

chains, 
" It moves, ybr all that! " was his 

answering tone, 
For he knew, like the Earth, he 

could go it alone ! 

When Kepler, with intellect pier- 
cing afar. 

Discovered the laws of each planet 
and star, 

And doctors, who ought to have 
lauded his name. 

Derided his learning, and black- 
ened his fame, 

" I can vmit / " he replied, " till the 
truth you shall own " ; 

For he felt in his heart he could go 
it alone I 



Alas ! for the player who idly de- 
pends. 

In the struggle of life, upon kin- 
dred or friends ; 

Whatever the value of blessings 
like these. 

They can never atone for inglorious 
ease, 

Nor comfort the coward who finds, 
with a groan. 

That hie crutches have left him to 
go it alone ! 

There 's something, no doubt, in 
the hand you may hold. 

Health, familv, culture,'wit, beau- 
ty, and gold 

The fortunate owner may fairly 
regard 

As, each in its way, a most excel- 
lent card ; 

Yet the game may be lost, with all 
these for your own, 

Unless you 've the courage to go it 
alone ! 

In battle or business, whatever the 

game. 
In law or in love, it is ever the 

same; 
In the struggle for power, or the 

scramble for pelf. 
Let this be your motto, — Rely on 

youi'self! 
For, whether the prize be a ribbon 

or throne. 
The victor is he who can go it 

alone ! 



THE PUZZLED CENSUS- 
TAKER. 

"Got any boys'?" the Marshal 
said 
To a lady from over the Rnine ; 



THE HEART AND THE LIVER. 



57 



And the lady shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered, " Nein / " * 

"Got any girls?" the Marshal 

said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again the lady shook her 

head. 

And civilly answered, " Nein ! " 

" But some are dead?" the Mar- 
shal said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again the lady shook her head, 

And civilly answered, "iVe^?^/" 

" Husband of course? " the Mar- 
shal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And agahi she shook her flaxen 
head. 
And civilly answered, " Nein / " 

"The devil you have! " the Mar- 
shal said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again she shook her flaxen 
head. 
And civilly answered, " Nein ! " 

" Now what do you mean by shak- 
ing your head, 
And always answering, ' Nine ' f " 
" Ich hann nicht Englisch ! " civilly 
said 
The lady from over the Rhine. 



THE HEART AND THE LIVER. 

MUSINGS OF A DYSPEPTIC. 



She 's broken - hearted, I have 
heard, — 
Whate'er may be the reason; 

* iVem, pronounced nine, is the Ger- 
man for " iVo." 



(Such things will happen now and 
then 

In Love's tempestuous season;) 
But still I marvel she should show 

No plainer outward token, 
If such a vital inward part 

Were very badly broken ! 



She 's broken-hearted, I am told, 

And so, of course, believe it; 
When truth is fairly certified 

I modestly receive it ; 
But after such an accident, 

It surely is a blessing. 
It does n't in the least impair 

Her brilliant style of dressing! 



She 's broken-hearted: who can 
doubt 

The noisy voice of Rumor? 
And yet she seems — for such a 
wreck — 

In no unhappy humor; 
She sleeps (I hear) at proper hours, 

When other folks are dozy; • 

Her eyes are sparkling as of yore, 

And still her cheeks are rosy ! 



She 's broken-hearted, and they 
say 
She never can recover; 
And then — in not the mildest 
way — 
They blame some fickle lover; 
I know she 's dying — by de- 
grees — 
But, sure as I 'm a sinner, 
I saw her eat, the other day, 
A most prodigious dinner! 

V. 

Alas ! that I, in idle rhyme, 
Should e'er profanely question 

(As I have done while musing o'er 
My chronic indigestion) 



58 



WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. 



If one should not receive the blow 
With blessings on the Giver, 

That only falls upon the heart, 
And kindly spares the Liver ! 



ABOUT HUSBANDS. 

"A man is, in general, better pleased 
when he has a good dinner upon his 
iable, than when his wife speaks 
Greek." — Sam. Johnson. 

Johnson was right. I don't agree 
to all 
The solemn dogmas of the rough 
old stager; 
But very much approve what one 
may call 
The minor morals of the " Ursa 
Major." 

Johnson was right. Although some 
men adore 
Wisdom in woman, and with 
learning cram her, 
There is n't one in ten but thinks 
far more 
Of his own grub than of his 
spouse's grammar. 

I know it is the greatest shame in 
life; 
But who among them (save, per- 
haps, myself) 
Returning hungry home, but asks 
his wife 
What beef — not books — she 
has upon the shelf? 

Though Greek and Latin be the 
lady's boast. 
They 're little valued by her lov- 
ing mate ; 
The kind of tongue that husbands 
relish most 
Is modern, boiled, and served 
upon a plate. 



Or if, as fond ambition may com' 
mand. 
Some home-made verse the hap- 
py matron show him, 
What mortal spouse but from her 
dainty hand 
Would sooner see a pudding than 
a poem ? 

Young lady, — deep in love with 
Tom or Harry, — 
'T is sad to tell you such a tale 
as this ; 
But here 's the moral of it: Do not 
marry ; 
Or, marrying, take your lover as 
he is, — 

A very man, — with something of 
the brute 
(Unless he prove a sentimental 
noddy). 
With passions strong and appetite 
to boot, 
A thirsty soul within a hungry 
body. 

A very man, — not one of nature's 
clods, — 
With human failings, whether 
saint or sinner ; 
Endowed, perhaps, with genius 
from the gods. 
But apt to take his temper from 
his dinner. 



WHERE THERE'S A WILL 

THERE'S A WAY. 

" Aut Tiam inveniam, aut faciam." 

It was a noble Roman, 

In Rome's imperial day, 
Who heard a coward croaker, 

Before the Castle, say: 
" They 're safe in such a fortress; 

Thefe is no way to shake it! " 
"On — on ! " exclaimed the hero, 

*' IHlJind a way, or make UP* 



A BENEDICTS APPEAL TO A BACHELOR. 



59 



Is Fame your aspiration ? 

Her path is steep and high ; 
In vain he seeks her temple, 

Content to gaze and sigh: 
The shining throne is waiting, 

But he alone can take it 
Wlio says, with Roman firmness, 

" I Hi find a to ay, or make it ! " 

Is Learning your ambition? 

There is no royal road; 
Alike the peer and peasant 

Must climb to her abode: 
Who feels the thirst of kno wledge, 

In Helicon may slake it, 
If he has still the Roman will 

" To find a way, or make it ! " 

Are Riches worth the getting? 

They must be bravely sought; 
With wishing and with fretting 

The boon cannot be bought: 
To all the prize is open, 

But only he can take it 
Who says, with Roman courage, 

" I Hi find a way, or make it / " 

In Love's impassioned warfare 

The tale has ever been. 
That victory crowns the valiant, — 

The brave are they who win : 
Though strong is Beauty's castle, 

A lover still may take^ it, 
Who says, with Roman daring, 

" I Hi find a way, or make it ! " 



^ BENEDICT'S APPEAL TO 
A BACHELOR. 

" Double I double ! " — Shakespeare. 



Dear Charles, be persuaded to 
wed, — 

For a sensible fellow like you. 
It 's high time to think of a bed. 

And muffins and coffee for two \ 



So have done with your doubt and 
delaying, — 
With a soul so adapted to mingle, 
No wonder the neighbors are say- 
ing 
'T is singular you should be sin- 
gle! 

II. 
Don't say that you have n't got 
time. 
That business demands your at- 
tention; 
There 's not the least reason nor 
rhyme 
In the"^ wisest excuse you can 
mention. 
Don't tell me about "other 
fish," — 
Your duty is done when you buy 
'em; 
And you never will relish the dish, 
Unless you 've a woman to fry 
'em! 

III. 
Don't listen to querulous stories 
By desperate damsels related, 
Who sneer at connubial glories, 
Because they 've known couples 
mismated. 
Such people, if they had their 
pleasure. 
Because silly bargains are made, 
Would deem it a rational measure 
To lay an embargo on trade ! 

IV. 

You may dream of poetical fame. 
But your wishes may chance to 
miscarry; 
The best way of sending one's 
name 
To posterity, Charles, is to mar- 
ry! 
And here I am willing to own. 

After soberly thinking upon it, 
I 'd very mucfi rather be known 
For a beautiful son, than a sonnet 1 



60 



A BENEDICTS APPEAL TO A BACHELOR. 



To Procrastination be deaf, — 

(A homily sent from above,) — 
The scoundrel's not only "the 
thief 

Of time, ' ' but of beauty and love ! 
0, delay not one moment to win 

A prize that is truly worth win- 
ning; 
Celibacy, Charles, is a sin, 

And sadly prolific of sinning! 

VI. 

Then pray bid your doubting good 

by, 

And dismiss all fantastic 
alarms. 
I '11 be sworn you 've a girl in your 
eye 
'T is your duty to have in your 
arms! 
Some trim little maiden of twenty, 

A beautiful, azure-eyed elf. 
With virtues and graces in plenty, 
And no failing but loving your- 

VII. 

Don't search for "an angel" a 
minute; . 
For granting you win in the se- 
quel, 
The deuce, after all, would be in it. 
With a union so very unequal ! 
The angels, it must be confessed. 
In this world are rather uncom- 
mon; 
And allow me, dear Charles, to 
suggest 
You 'II be better content with a 
woman ! 



I could furnish a bushel of reasons 

For choosing a conjugal mate : 
It agrees with all climates and 
seasons. 
And gives you a "double es- 
tate " ! 



To one's parents 't is (gratefully) 

due, — 

Just think what a terrible thing 

'T would have been, sir, for me 

and for you. 

If ours had forgotten the ring! 



Then there 's the economy — clear, 

By poetical algebra shown, — 
If your wife has a grief or a fear, 
One half, by the law, is your 
own! 
And as to the joys — by division, 
They 're nearly quadrupled, 't is 
said 
(Though I never could see the ad- 
dition 
Quite plain in the item of bread). 



Remember, I do not pretend 
There's anything "perfect" 
about it, 
But this I '11 aver to the end, 

Life 's very imperfect without it. 
'T is not that there 's " poetry " in 
it, — 
As, doubtless, there may be to 
those 
Endowed with a genius to win it, — 
But I '11 warrant you excellent 
prose ! 

XI. 

Then, Charles, be persuaded to 
wed, — 
For a sensible fellow like you, 
It 's high time to think of a bed, 

And muffins and coffee for two ; 
So have done with your doubt and 
delaying, — 
With a soul so adapted to mingle, 
No wonder the neighbors are say- 
ing 
'T is singular you should be sin- 
gle! 



"DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED 1 



61 



THE GHOST-PLAYER. 

A BALLAD. 

Tom Goodwin was an actor-man, 
Old Drury's pride and boast 

In all the light and sprite-ly parts, 
Especially the Ghost. 

Now, Tom was very fond of drink, 

Of almost every sort. 
Comparative and positive, 

From porter up to port. 

But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff 

For any man to sup ; 
For when it fails to pull him down. 

It 's sure to blow him up. 

And so it fared with ghostly Tom, 
Who day by day was seen 

A-3 welling, till (as lawyers say) 
He fairly lost his lean. 

At length the manager observed 
He 'd better leave his post. 

And said he played the very deuce 
Whene'er he played *he Ghost. 

' r was only t' other night he saw 

A fellow swing his hat, 
And heard him cry, " By all the 
gods! 

The Ghost is getting fat! " 

'T would never do, the case was 
plain ; 
His eyes he could n't shut; 
Ghosts should n't make the people 
laugh, 
And Tom was quite a hutt. 

Tom's actor friends said ne'er a 
word 
To cheer his drooping heart ; 
Though more than one was burn- 
ing up 
With zeal to " take his part." 

Torn argued very plausibly; 
He said he did n't doubt 



That Hamlet's father drank, and 
grew. 
In years, a little stout. 

And so 't was natural, he said, 
And quite a proper plan, 

To have his spirit represent 
A portly sort of man. 

'T was all in vain: the manager 
Said he was not in sport. 

And, like a gen'ral, bade poor Tom 
Surrender up h.\?, forte. 

He 'd do, perhaps, in heavy parts, 
Might answer for a monk, 

Or porter to the elephant, 
To carry round his trunk ; 

But in the Ghost his day was 
past, — 

He 'd never do for that; 
A Ghost might just as well be dead 

As plethoric and fat ! 

Alas! next day poor Tom was 
found 

As stiff as any post; 
For he had lost his character, 

And given up the Ghost ! 



DO YOU THINK 
MAREIED?" 



HE IS 



Madam, — you are very pressing, 
And I can't decline the task; 

With the slightest gift of guessing, 
You would scarcely need to ask. 

Don't you see a hint of marriage 
In his sober-sided face? 

In his rather careless carriage, 
And extremely rapid pace ? 

If he 's not committed treason. 
Or some wicked action done, 

Can you see the faintest reason 
Why a bachelor should run? 



62 



A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. 



Why should he be in a flurry ? 

But a loving wife to greet 
Is a circumstance to hurry 

The most dignified of feet. 

When afar the man has spied her, 
If the grateful, happy elf 

Does not haste to be beside her, 
He must be beside himself! 

It is but a trifle, maybe, — 
But observe his practised tone. 

When he calms your stormy baby, 
Just as if it were his own ! 

Do you think a certain meekness 
You have mentioned in his looks 

Is a chronic optic weakness 
That has come of reading books ? 

Did you ever see his vision 
Peering underneath a hood, 

Save enough for recognition. 
As a civil person should V 

Could a Capuchin be colder 
When he glances, as he must, 

At a finely rounded shoulder, 
Or a proudly swelling bust ? 

Madam, think of qxqvj feature, 
Then deny it, if you can. 

He 's a fond, connubial creature. 
And a very married man ! 



A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. 

ADDRESSED TO THOMAS B. THORPE, ESQ., 
OP NEW ORLEANS. 

Dear Tom, have you forgot the day 
When, long ago, we used to stray 

Among the " Haddams " V 
Where, in the mucky road, a man 
(The road was built on Adam's 
plan. 

And not McAdam's!) 



Went down — down — down, cne 

stormy night. 
And disappeared from human 
sight, 
All save his hat, — 
Which raised in sober minds a 

sense 
Of some mysterious Providence 
In sparing that ? 

I think 't will please you, Tom, to 

hear 
The man who in that night of fear 

AVent down terrestrial. 
Worked out a passage like a miner, 
And, pricking through somewhere 
in China, 
Came up Celestial ! 

Ah ! those were memorable times, 
And worth embalming in my 
rhymes, 

When, at the summons 
Of chapel bell, we left our sport 
For lessons most uncommon short, 

Or shorter commons ! 

I mind me, Tom, you often drew 
Nice portraits, 'and exceeding 
true — 

To your intention ! 
The most impracticable faces 
Discovered unsuspected graces, 

By your invention. 

On brainless heads the finest bumps 
(Erected by your pencil-thumps) 

Were plainly seen; 
Your Yankees all were very Greek, 
Unchosen aunts grew '"choice 
antique," 

And blues turned green ! 

The swarthy suddenly were fair, 
And yellow changed to auburn hair 

Or sunny flax; 
And people very thin and flat. 
Like Aldermen'grew round and fat 

On canvas-backs ! 



EARLY RISING. 



63 



I well remember all your art 

To make the best of every part, — 

I am certain no man 
Could better coax a wrinkle out, 
Or elevate a lowly snout. 

Or snub a Roman ! 

Young gentlemen with leaden eyes 
Stared wildly out on lowering skies, 

Quite Corsair-fashion ; 
And greenish orbs got vei-y blue. 
And linse3'-woolsey maidens grew 

Almost Circassian ! 

And many an ancient maiden aunt 
As lean and lank as John 0' Gaunt, 

Or even lanker, 
By art transformed and newly drest, 
Could boast for once as full a chest 

As — any banker ! 

Ah ! we were jolly youngsters then, 
But now we 're sober-sided men, 
Half through life's journey; 
And you 've turned author, Tom, 

I hear, — 
And I — you'll think it very 
queer — 
Have turned attorney ! 

Heaven bless you, Tom, in house 

and heart ! 
(That we should live so far apart 

Is much a pity), 
And may you multiply your name, 
A.nd have a very "crescent " fame. 

Just like your city ! 



EARLY RISING. 

" God bless the man who first in- 
vented sleep! " 
So Sancho Panza said, and so 
say I : 
And bless him, also, that he did n't 
keep 
His great discovery to himself; 
nor try 



To make it — as the lucky fellow 

might — 
A close monoply by patent-right ! 

Yes; bless the man who first in- 
vented sleep 
(I really can't avoid the itera- 
tion); 

But blast the man, with curses 
loud and deep, 
Whate'er the rascal's name, or 
age, or station. 

Who fii'st invented, and went round 
advising, 

That artifical cut-off, — Earljk 
Rising! 

" Rise with the lark, and with the 
lark to bed," 
Observes some solemn, sentimen- 
tal owl ; 

Maxims like these are very cheaply 
said; 
But, ere you make yourself a fool 
or fowl, 

Pray just inquire about his rise 
and fall, 

And whether larks have any beds 
at all ! 

The time for honest folks to be 
abed 
Is in the morning, if I reason 
right; 

And he who cannot keep his pre- 
cious head 
Upon his pillow till it 's fairly 
light. 

And so enjoy his forty morning 
winks. 

Is up to knavery; or else — he 
drinks ! 

Thomson, who sung about the 
" Seasons," said 
It was a glorious thing to rise in 



64 



THE LADY ANN. 



But then he said it — lying — in 
his bed, 
At ten o'clock, A. m., — the very 
reason 

He wrote so charmingly. The sim- 
ple fact is, 

His preaching was n't sanctioned 
by his practice. 

*Tis, doubtless, well to be some- 
times awake, — 
Awake to duty, and awake to 
truth, — 

But when, alas I a nice review we 
take 
Of our best deeds and days, we 
find, in sooth, 

The hours that leave the slightest 
cause to weep 

Are those we passed in childhood 
or asleep ! 

*T is beautiful to leave the world 

awhile 
For the soft visions of the gentle 

night; 
And free, at last, from mortal care 

or guile. 
To live as only in the angels' 

sight, 
(n sleep's sweet realm so cosily 

shut in, 
Where, at the worst, we only dream 
* of sin ! 

So let us sleep, and give the Maker 
praise. 
I like the lad who, when his 
father thought 

To clip his morning nap by hack- 
neyed phrase 
Of vagrant worm by early song- 
ster caught. 

Cried, "Served him right! — it's 
not at all surprising; 

The worm was punished, sir, for 
early rising! " 



THE LADY ANN. 

A BALLAD. 

" She '11 soon be here, the Lady 
Ann," 
The children cried in glee ; 
" She always comes at four 
o'clock, 
And now it 's striking three." 

At stroke of four the lady came, 

A lady passing fair; 
And she sat and gazed adown the 
road, 

With a long and eager stare. 

" The mail ! the mail! " the idlers 
cried, 
At sight of a coach-and-four ; 
" The mail ! the mail ! " and at the 
word. 
The coach was at the door. 

Up sprang in haste the Lady Ann, 
And marked with anxious eye 

The travellers, who, one by one, 
Were slowly passing by. 

" Alack! alack.! " the lady cried, 
" He surely named to-day; 

He '11 come to-morrow, then," she 
sighed. 
And, turning, strolled away. 

" 'T is passing odd, upon my 
word," 
The landlord now began ; 
" A strange romance ! — that wo- 
man, sirs, 
Is called the Lady Ann. 

*' She dwells hard by upon the hill, 

The widow of Sir John, 
Who died abroad, come August 
next. 

Just twenty years agone. 



HOW THE MONEY GOES. 



65 



'' A hearty neighbor, sirs, Avas he, 
A bold, 'true-hearted man; 

And a fonder pair were seldom seen 
Than he and Lady Ann. 

•' They scarce had been a twelve- 
month wed, 

When — ill betide the day ! — 
Sir John was called to go in haste 

Some hundred miles away. 

" Ne'er lovers in the fairy tales 
A truer love could boast ; 

A.nd many wtre the gentle words 
That came and went by post. 

" A month or more had passed 
away, 

When by the post came down 
The joyous news that such a day 

Sir John would be in town. 

»' ^ull gleesome was the Lady Ann 
To read the welcome word. 

And promptly at the hour she 
came. 
To meet her wedded lord. 

" Alas ! alas ! he came not back. 

There only came instead 
A. mournful message by the post^. 

That good Sir John was dead ! 

" One piercing shriek, and Lady 
Ann 

Had swooned upon the floor : 
Good sirs, it was a fearful grief 

That gentle lady bore ! 

'' We raised her up ; her ebbing life 

Began again to dawn ; 
She muttered wildly to herself, — 

'T was plain her wits were gone. 

•' A strange forgetfulness came o'er 
Her sad, bewildered mind. 

And to the grief that drove her mad 
Her memory was blind ! 



"Ah! since that hour she little 
wots 

Full twenty years are fled ! 
She little wots, poor Lady Ann! 

Her wedded lord is dead. 

" But each returning day she 
deems 

The day he fixed to come; 
And ever at the wonted hour 

She 's here to greet him home. 

"And when the coach is at the 
door. 

She marks with eager eye 
The travellers, as one by one 

They 're slowly passing by. 

" ' Alack! ' she cries, in plaintive 
tone, 
' He surely named to-day ! 
He '11 corae to-morrow, then,' she 
sighs. 
And, turning, strolls away." 



HOW THE MONEY GOES. 

How goes the Money V — Well, 
T 'm sure it is n't hai-d to tell ; 
It goes for rent, and water-rates, 
For bread and butter, coal and 

grates, 
Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and 

hose, — 
And that 's the way the Money- 
goes ! 

How goes the Money ? — Nay, 

Don't everybody know the way? 

It goes for bonnets, coats, and 
capes. 

Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, 
crapes. 

Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbe- 
lows, — 

And that 's the way Money goes! 



66 



SAINT JONATHAN. 



How goes the Money ? — Sure, 
I wish the ways were something 

fewer ; 
It goes for wages, taxes, debts ; 
It goes for presents, goes for bets, 
For paint, pommade, and eau de 

rose, — 
And that 's the way the Money 

goes! 

How goes the Money ? — Now, 
I ' ve scarce begun to mention how ; 
It goes for laces, feathers, rings, 
Toys, dolls — and other baby- 
things, 
Whips, whistles, candies, bells, 

and bows, — 
And that 's the way the Money 
goes! 

How goes the Money ? — Come, 

I know it does n't go for rum ; 

It goes for schools and sabbath 

chimes. 
It goes for charity — sometimes ; 
For missions, and such things as 

those, — 
And that 's the way the Money 

goes I 

How goes the Money V — There ! 

I 'm out of patience, I declare; 

It goes for plays, and diamond- 
pins, 

For public alms, and private sins. 

For hollow shams, and silly 
shows, — 

And that 's the way the Money 
goes! 



SAINT JONATHAN. 

There 's many an excellent 
Saint, — 
St. George, with his dragon and 
lance; 



St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint; 

St. Vitus, the saint of the dance*, 
St. Denis, the saint of the Gaul ; 

St. Andrew, the saint of the 
Scot; 
But Jonathan, youngest of all, 

Is the mightiest saint of the lot ! 

He wears a most serious face, 
Well worthy a martyr's possess- 
ing; 
But it is n't all owing to grace, 
But partly to thinking and guess- 
mg; 
In sooth, our American Saint 

Has rather a secular bias. 
And I never have heard a com^ 
plaint 
Of his being excessively pious ! 

He 's fond of financial improve- 
ment, 
And is always extremely in- 
clined 
To be starting some practical 
movement 
For mending the morals and 
mind. 
Do you ask me what wonderful 
labors 
St. Jonathan ever has done 
To rank with his Calendar neigh- 
bors ? 
Just listen, a moment, to one: 

One day when a flash in the air 
Split his meeting-house fairly 
asunder. 
Quoth Jonathan, " Now, I de- 
clare. 
They 're dreadfully careless with 
thunder ! ' ' 
So he fastened a rod to the steeple; 
And now, when the lightning 
comes round, 
He keeps it from building and 
people, 
By running it into the ground ! 



SONG OF SARATOGA. 



67 



Reflecting, with i)leasant emotion, 
On the capital job he had done, 
Quoth Jonathan : " I have a no- 
tion 
Improvements have barely be- 
gun ; 
If nothing 's created in vain, — 

As ministers often inform us, — 
The hghtning that 's wasted, 't is 
plain 
Is really something enormous ! " 

While ciphering over the thing. 

At length he discovered a plan 
To catch the Electrical King, 

And make him the servant of 
man; 
And now, in an orderly way. 

He flies on the fleetest of pinions, 
And carries the news of the day 

All over his master's dominions ! 

One morning, while taking a stroll. 

He heard a lugubrious cry, — 
Like the shriek of a suffering 
soul, — 

In a Hospital standing near by; 
Anon, such a terrible groan 

Saluted St. Jonathan's ear 
That his bosom — which wasn't 
of stone — 

Was melted with pity to hear. 

That night he invented a charm 

So potent that folks who employ 
it, 
In losing a leg or an arm, 

Don't suffer, but rather enjoy it! 
A miracle, you must allow, * 

As good as the best of his broth- 
ers, — 
And blessdd St. Jonathan now 

Is patron of cripples and mothers ! 

There 's many an excellent 
Saint, — 
St. George, with his dragon and 
lance ; 



St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint; 

St. Vitus, the saint of fhe dance; 
St. Denis, the saint of the Gaul; 

St. Andrew, the saint of the 
Scot ; 
But Jonathan, youngest of all, 

Is the mightiest saint of the lot! 



SONG OF SARATOGA. 

"Pray, what do they do at the 
Springs? " 
The question is easy to ask ; 
But to answer it fully, my dear, 

Were rather a serious task. 
And yet, in a bantering way. 
As the magpie or mocking-bird 
sings, 
I '11 venture a bit of a song 

To tell what they do at the 
Springs ! 

Imprimis, my darling, they drink 
The waters so sparkling and 
clear ; 
Though the flavor is none of the 
best. 
And the odor exceedingly queer; 
But the fluid is mingled, you know. 
With wholesome medicinal 
things, 
So they drink, and they drink, and 
"^they drink, — 
And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

Then with appetites keen as a 
knife. 
They hasten to breakfast or dine 
(The latter precisely at three, _ 

The former from seven till nine.) 
Ye gods ! what a rustle and rush 
When the eloquent dinner-bell 
rings ] 
Then they eat, and they eat, and 
theV eat, — 
And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 



68 



TALE OF A DOG. 



Now they stroll in the beautiful 
walks, 
Or loll in the shade of the trees ; 
Where many a whisper is heard 

That never is told by the breeze ; 
And hands are commingled with 
hands, 
Regardless of conjugal rings ; 
And they flirt, and thev flirt, and 
they flirt, — 
And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

The drawing-rooms now are ablaze. 

And music is shrieking away ; 
Terpsichore governs the hour, 

And Fashion was never so gay ! 
An arm round a tapering waist, 

How closely and fondly it clings ! 
So they waltz, and they waltz, and 
they waltz, — 

And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

In short — as it goes in the world — 
They eat, and they drink, and 
*^they sleep ; 
They talk, and they walk, and 
they woo ; 
They sigh, and they laugh, and 
they weep ; 
They read, and they ride, and they 
dance; 
(With other unspeakable things ; ) 
They pray, and they play, and 

And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 



TALE OF A DOG. 

IN TWO PARTS. 
PART FIRST. 

'" CuESE on all curs ! " I heard a 
, cynic cry ; 

A wider malediction than he 
thought, — ■ 



For what 's a cynic ? — Had he cast 
his eye 
Within his dictionary, he had 
caught 

This much of learning, — the un- 
tutored elf, — 

That he, unwittingly, had cursed 
himself! 

II. 

" Beware of dogs," the great Apos- 
tle writes; 
A rather brief and sharp philip- 



pic sent 
sPhil 



TotheFhilippians. The paragi-aph 
invites 
Some little question as to its in- 
tent, 

Among the best expositors; but 
then 

I find they all agree that " dogs " 
meant men ! 

in. 

Beware of men ! a moralist might 

say. 
And women too ; 't were but a 

prudent hint. 
Well worth observing in a general 

way, 
But having surely no conclusion 

in 't, 
( As saucy satirists are wont to rail, ) 
All men are faithless, and all 

women frail. 

IV. 

And so of dogs 't were wrong to 
dogmatize 
Without discrimination or de- 
gree; 

For one may see, with half a pair 
of eyes. 
That they have characters as 
well as we: 

I hate the rascal who can walk the 
street 

Caning all canines he may chance 
to meet. 



TALE OF A DOG. 



69 



I had fi dog that was not all a dog, 
For in his nature there was 
something human; 

Wisely he looked as any peda- 
gogue ; 
Loved funerals and weddings, 
like a woman ; 

With this (still human) weakness, 
I confess, 

Of always judging people by their 
dress. 



He hated beggars, it was very 
clear. 
And oft was seen to drive them 
from the door; 

But that was education; — for a 
year. 
Ere yet his puppyhood was fairly 
o'er. 

He lived with a Philanthropist, 
and caught 

His practices ; the precepts he for- 
got! 

VII. 

Which was a pity; yet the dog, I 
grant. 
Led, on the whole, a very worthy 
life. 

To teach you industrv, " Go to the 
ant," 
(I mean the insect, not your 
uncle's wife;) 

But — though the counsel sounds 
a little rude — 

Go to the dogs, for love and grati- 
tude. 



PART SECOND. 

VIII. 

Throw physic to the dogs," the 

poet cries ; 
A downright insult to the canine 

race; 



There 's not a puppy but is far too 

wise 
To put a pill or powder in his 

face. 
Perhaps the poet merely meant to 

say, 
That physic, thrown to dogs, is 

thrown away, — 



Which (as the parson said about 

the dice) 
Is the best throw that any man 

can choose ; 
Take, if you 're ailing, medical 

advice, — 
Minus the medicine, — which, 

of course, refuse. 
Drugging, no doubt, occasioned 

Homoeopathy, 
And all the dripping horrors of 

Hydropathy. 



At all events, 't is fitting to remark, 
Dogs spurn at drugs ; their daily 

bark and whine 
Are not at all the musty wine and 

bark 
The doctors give to patients in 

decline ; 
And yet a dog who felt a fracture's 

smart 
Once thanked a kind chirurgeon 

for his art. 



I 've heard a story, and believe it 
true, 
About a dog that chanced to 
break his leg; 

His master set it and the member 
grew 
Once moi-e a sound and service- 
able peg ; 

And how d' ye think the happy 
dog exprest 

The grateful feelings of his glowing 
breast ? 



70 



THE JOLLY MARINER 



XII. 



'T was not in words ; the customary 
Of human debtors for a friendly 

For dogs their thoughts can neither 

sing nor say , . ^ , 

E'en in " dog-latin," which (a 

curious fact) 
Is spoken only — as a classic 

grace — 
By grave Professors of the human 

race! 

XIII. 

No, 'twas in deed; the very brief- 
est tail 
Declared his deep emotions at 
his cure : 

Short, but significant; — one could 
not fail, . 

From the mere wagging of his 
cynosure 

(" Surgens epuppV), and his ears 
agog, 

To see the fellow was a grateful 
dog! 

XIV. 

One day — still mindful of his late 

rl i Stistcr • 
He wandered off the village to 

explore ; 
And brought another dog unto his 

master. 
Lame of a leg, as he had been 

before ; 
As who should say, " You see! — 

the dog is lame : 
You doctored me, pray doctor him 

the same ! " 



So runs the story, and you have it 

cll6HT) — 

Dog-cheap, as doubtless such a 
tale should be : 



The moral, surely, is n't hard to 
reap : — 
Be prompt to listen unto mercy's 
plea; 

The good you get, diffuse ; it will 
not hurt you 

E'en from a dog to learn a Chris- 
tian virtue ! 



THE JOLLY MARINEK. 

A BALLAD. 

It was a jolly mariner 

As ever hove a log ; 
He wore his trousers wide and free, 

And alwavs ate his prog. 
And blessed his eyes, in sailor- 
wise, 

And never shirked his grog. 

Up spoke this jolly mariner. 

Whilst walking up and down : — 

" The briny sea has pickled me, 
And done me very brown ; 

But here I goes, in these here 
clo'es, 
A-cruising in the town! " 

The first of all the curious things 
That chanced his eye to meet, 

As this undaunted mariner 
Went saihng up the street, 

Was, tripping with a little cane, 
A dandy all complete ! 

He stopped, — that jolly mari^ 
ner, — 
And eyed the stranger well : — 
"What tiiat may be," he said, saya 
he, 
" Is more than I can tell; 
But ne'er before, on sea or shore, 
Was such a heavy swell! " 

He met a lady in her hoops, 
And thus she heard him hail : -- 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



71 



» Now blow me tight ! but there 's 
a sight 

To manage in a gale ! 
I never saw so small a craft 

With such a spread o' sail ! 

" Observe the craft before and 
aft,— 

She 'd make a pretty prize ! " 
And then in that improper way 

He spoke about his eyes, 
That mariners are wont to use 

In anger or surprise. 

He saw a plumber on a roof, 
Who made a mighty din: — 

" Shipmate, ahoy ! '' the rover 
cried, 
" It makes a sailor grin 

To see you copper-bottoming 
Your upper decks with tin! " 

He met a yellow-bearded man, 
And asked about the way ; 

But not a word could he make out 
Of what the chap would say, 

Unless he meant to call him names, 
By screaming, " Nix furstay ! " 

Up spoke this jolly mariner. 
And to the man said he : — 

" I have n't sailed these thirty 
years 
Upon the stormy sea, 

To bear the shame of such a name 
As I have heard from thee ! 

" So take thou that ! " — and laid 
him flat; 

But soon the man arose. 
And beat the jolly mariner 

Across his jolly nose, 
Till he was fain, from very pain, 

To yield him to the blows. 

'T was then this jolly mariner, 

A wretched jolly tar. 
Wished he was in a jolly-boat 

Upon the sea afar, 



Or riding fast, before the blast, 
Upon a single spar ! 

'T was then this jolly mariner 

Returned unto his ship. 
And told unto the wondering crew 

The story of his trip. 
With many oaths and curses, too, 

Upon his wicked lip ! 

As hoping — so this mariner 
In fearful words harangued — 

His timbers might be shivered, and 
His le'ward scuppers danged, 

(A double curse, and vastly worse 
Than being shot or hanged !) 

If ever he — and here again 
A dreadful oath he swore — 

If ever he, except at sea. 
Spoke any stranger more, 

Or like a son of — something ^- 
went 
A-cruising on the shore ! 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN 
GOTHAM. 

" Qui mores hominura multonim Tidit 

et Mrftem." 

I'LL tell you a story of Thomas 
Brown, — 

I don't mean the poet of Shrop- 
shire town ; 

Nor the Scotch Professor of wide 
renown ; 

But "Honest Tom Brown"; so 
called, no doubt, 
Because with the same 
Identical name, 

A good many fellows were roving 
about 

Of whom the sheriff might pru- 
dently swear 

That " honest " with them was a 
non-est affair ! 



72 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



Now Tom was a Yankee of wealth 
and worth, 

Who lived and throve by tilling 
the earth ; 
For Tom had wrought 
As a farmer ought, 

Who, doomed to toil by original 
sinning. 

Began — like Adam — at the be- 
ginning. 

He ploughed, he harrowed, and he 
sowed ; 

He drilled, he planted, and he 
hoed; 

He dug and delved, and reaped and 
mowed. 

(I wish I could — but I can't — tell 
now 

Whether he used a subsoil-plough ; 

Or whether, in sooth, he had ever 
seen 

A regular reaping and raking ma- 
chine.) 

He took most pains 
With the nobler grains 
Of higher value, and finer tissues 
Which, possibly, one 
Inclined to a pun, 

Would call — like Hnrpo his 

" cerealissnesl " 
With wheat his lands were all 

ablaze ; 
'T was amazing to look at his fields 
of maize ; 
And there were places 
That showed rye-faces 
As pleasant to see as so many 
Graces. 
And as for hops, 
His annual crops 
( So very extensive that, on my soul. 
They fairly reached from pole to 

pole!) 
Would beat the guess of any old 

fogie, 
Or — the longest season at Sara- 

tncrn ' 



Whatever seed did most abound, 
In the grand result that Autumn 
found, 
It was his plan. 
Though a moderate man, 
To be early running it into the 
ground ; 
That is to say. 
In another way : — 
Whether the seed was barley or 

hay. 
Large or little, or green or gray, — 
Provided only it promised to 

"pay," — 

He never chose to labor in vain 
By stupidly going against the 

grain; 
But hastened away, without stay 

or stop, 
And carefully put it into his crop. 
And he raised tomatoes 
And lots of potatoes, 
More sorts, in sooth, than I could 

tell; 
Turnips, that always turned up 

well ; 
Celery, all that he could sell ; 
Grapes by the bushel, sour and 

sweet ; 
Beets, that certainly could n't be 

beat; 
Cabbage — like some sartorial 

mound ; 
Vines, that fairly CM-cumbered the 

ground; 
Some pumpkins — more than he 

could house, and 
Ten thousand pears; (that 's twen- 
ty thousand ! ) 
Fruit of all kinds and propagations, 
Baldwins, Pippins, and Carnations, 
And apples of other appellations. 
To sum it all up in the briefest 

space. 
As you may suppose. Brown 

flourished apace. 
Just because he proceeded, I ven- 
ture to say, 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



73 



In the nulla-retrorsum vestigi-ous 

way; 
That is — if you 're not University- 
bred — 
He took Crocket's advice about 

going ahead. 
At all the State Fairs he held a 

fair station, 
Raised horses and cows and his 

own reputation ; 
Made butter and money; took a 

Justice's niclie; 
Grew wheat, wool, and hemp; 

corn, cattle, and — rich! 
But who would be always a coun- 
try-clown ? 
And so Tom Brown 
Sat himself down 
And, knitting his brow in a studi- 
ous frown. 
He said, says he : — 
It's plain to see. 
And I think Mrs. B will be apt to 

agree 
(If she don't, it 's much the same 
to me), 
That I, Tom Brown, 
Should go to town ! 
But then, says he, what town shall 

it be?" 
Boston-town is consid'rably near- 
er. 
And York is farther, and so will 

be dearer. 
But then, of course, the sights will 

be queerer; 
Besides, I 'm told, you 're surely 

a lost 'un, 
If you once get astray in the streets 
of Boston. 
York is right-angled; 
And Boston, right-tangled ; 
And both, I 've no doubt, are un- 
common new-fangled. 
Ah! — the ''Smiths," I remem- 
ber, belong to York, 
i'T was ten years ago I sold them 
my pork,) 



Good, honest traders — I'd like to 

know them — 
And so — 't is settled — I '11 go to 

Gotham ! 

And so Tom Brown 
Sat himself down, 

With many a smile and never a 
frown, 

And rode, by rail, to that notable 
town 

Which I really think well worthy 
of mention 

As being America's greatest inven- 
tion ! 

Indeed, I '11 be bound that if Nature 
and Art, 

(Though the former, being older, 
has gotten the start, ) 

In some new Crystal Palace of 
suitable size 

Should show their chefs-d^cRuvre, 
and contend for the prize 

The latter would prove, when it 
came to the scratch, 

Whate'er you may think, no con- 
temptible match; 

For should old Mrs. Nature en- 
deavor to stagger her 

By presenting, at last, her majestic 
Niagara, 

Miss Art would produce an equiva- 
lent work 

In her great, overwhelming, un- 
finished New York ! 

And now Mr. Brown 
Was fairly in town, 
In that part of the city they used 

to call " down," 
Not far from the spot of ancient 
renown 
As being the scene 
Of the Bowling Green, 
A fountain that looked like a huge 

tureen 
Piled up with rocks, and a squirt 
between; 



74 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



But the " Bowling " now has gone 
where they tally 

" The Fall of the Ten,*" in a neigh- 
boring alley ; 

And as to the "Green" — why, 
that you will find 

Whenever you see the "invisible " 
kind ! — 

And he stopped at an Inn that 's 
known very well, 

" Delmonico's " once — now " Ste- 
ven's Hotel"; 

(And, to venture a pun which I 
think rather witty, 

There 's no better Inn in this Inn- 
famous city ! ) 

And Mr. Brown 
Strolled up town, 
And I 'm going to write his travels 

down; 
But if you suppose Tom Brown 

will disclose 
The usual sins and follies of those 
Who leave rural regions to see 

city-shows, — 
You could n't well make 
A greater mistake ; 
For Brown was a man of excellent 

sense; 
Could see very well through a hole 

in a ence, 
And was honest and plain, without 

sham or pretence ; 
Of sharp city-learning he could n't 

have boasted, 
But he was n't the chap to be 

easily roasted. 
And here let me say, 
In a very dogmatic, oracular way, 
(And I '11 prove it, before I have 

done with my lay, ) 
Not only that honesty 's likely to 

"pay," 
But that one must be, as a general 

rule. 
At least half a knave to be wholly 

a fool 1 



Of pocketbook - dropping Tom 
never had heard, 

(Or at least if he had, he 'd forgot- 
ten the word, ) 

And now when, at length, the 
occasion occurred. 

For that sort of chaff he was n't 
the bird. 

The gentleman argued with elo- 
quent force, 

And begged him to pocket the 
money, of course ; 

But Brown, without thinking at 
all what he said, 

Popped out the first thing that 
entered his head, 

(Which chanced to be wondrously 
fitting and true, ) 

"No, no, my dear Sir, I'll be 
burnt if I do! " 

Two lively young fellows, of ele- 
gant mien, 

Amused him awhile with a pretty 
machine, — 

An ivory ball, which he never had 
seen. 

But though the unsuspecting stran- 
ger 

In the " patent safe " saw no patent 
danger. 

He easily dodged the nefarious net. 

Because' "he wasn't accustomed 
to bet." 

Ah ! here, I wot. 
Is exactly the spot 
To make a small fortune as easy as 

not! 
That man with the watch — what 

lungs he has got ! 
It's "Going — the best of that 

elegant lot — 
To close a concern, at a desperate 

rate. 
The jeweller ruined as certain as 

fate! 
A capital watch! — you may set 

by the weight — 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



75 



Worth onti hundred dollars as easy 

as eight — 
Or half of that sura to melt down 

into plate — 
(Brown does n't know " Peter " 

from Peter the Great) 
But then I can't dwell, 
I 'm ordered to sell, 
And mus' n't stand weeping — just 

look at the shell — 
I warrant the ticker to operate 

well — 
Nine dollars ! — it 's hard to be 

seUing it under 
A couple of fifties — it 's cruel, by 

Thunder ! 
Ten dollars ! — I 'm offered — the 

man who secures 
This splendid — ten dollars ! — say 

twelve, and it 's yours ! " 
"Don't want it" — quoth Brown 

— "I don't wish to buy; 
Fifty dollars, I 'm sure, one could 

n't call high — 
But to see the man ruined ! — Dear 

Sir, I declare — 
Between two or three bidders, it 

doesn't seem fair; 
To knock it off now were surely a 

sin; 
Just wait, my dear Sir, till the 

people come in! 
Allow me to say, you disgrace 

your position 
As Sheriff — consid'ring the debt- 
or's condition — 
To sell such a watch without more 

competition! " 
And here Mr. Brown 
Gave a very black frown. 
Stepped leisurely out, and walked 

farther up town. 
To see him stray along Broadway 
In the afternoon of a summer's 

day, 
And note what he chanced to see 

and say ; 
And what people he meets 
In the narrower streets, 



Were a pregnant theme for a longer 
lay. 

How he marvelled at those geologi- 
cal chaps 

Who go poking about in crannies 
and gaps. 

Those curious people in tattered 
breeches, 

The rag-wearing, rag-picking sons 
of — ditches. 

Who find in the very nastiest niches 

A " decent living," and sometimes 
riches ; ' 

How he thought city prices exceed- 
ingly queer, 

The 'busses too cheap, and the 
hacks too dear; 

How he stuck in the mud, and got 
lost in the question — 

A problem too hard for his mental 
digestion — 

Why — in cleaning the city, the 
city employ's 

Such a very small corps of such 
very small boys ; 

How he judges by dress, and ac- 
cordingly rnakes, 

By mixing up classes, the drollest 
mistakes. 

How — as if simple vanity ever 
were vicious. 

Or women of merit could be mere- 
tricious, — 

He imagines the dashing Fifth- 
Avenue dames 

The same as the girls with un- 
speakable names ! 

An exceedingly natural blunder in 
soOth, 

But, I 'm happy to say, very far 
from the truth ; 

For e'en at the worst, whate'er you 
suppose. 

The one sort of ladies can cliooae 
their beaux. 

While, as to the other — but every 
one knows 

What — if 't were a secret — 1 
would n't disclose. 



76 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 



And Mr. Brown 

Returned from town, 
With a bran new hat, and a muslin 

gown, 
And he told the tale, when the sun 

was down, 
How he spent his eagles, and 

saved his crown ; 
How he showed his pluck by re- 
sisting the claim 
Of an impudent fellow who asked 

his name; 
But paid — as a gentleman ever is 

willing — 
At the old Park-Gate, the regular 

shilling ! 



YE TAILYOR-MAN. 

A CONTEMPLATIVE BALLAD. 

Bight jollie is ye tailyor-man, 

As annie man may be ; 
And all ye daye upon ye benche 

He worketh merrilie. 

And oft ye while in pleasante wise 
He coi'leth up his lymbes, 

He singeth songs ye like whereof 
Are not in Watts his hymns. 

And yet he toileth all ye while 
His merrie catches rolle; 

As true unto ye needle as 
Ye needle to ye pole. 

What cares ye valiant tailyor-man 
For all ye cowarde feares ? 

Against ye scissors of ye Fates 
He pointes his mightie shears. 

He heedeth not ye anciente jests 
That witJesse sinners use; 

What feareth ye bolde tailyor-man 
Ye hissinge'of a goose ? 



He pulleth at ye busie threade, 
To feede his lovinge wife 

And eke his childe; for unto them 
It is ye threade of life. 

He cutteth well ye riche man's 
coate, 

And with unseemlie pride 
He sees ye little Avaistcoate in 

Ye cabbage bye his side. 

Meanwhile ye tailyor-man his wife, 

To labor nothinge loth, 
Sits bye with readie hande to baste 

Ye urchin and ye cloth. 

Full happie is ye tailyor-man, 

Yet is he often tried, 
Lest he, from fullnesse of ye dimes, 

Wax wanton in his pri^e. 

Full happie is ye tailyor-man, 

And yet he hath a foe, 
A cunmnge enemie that none 

So well as tailyors knowe. 

It is ye slipperie customer 
Who goes his wicked wayes. 

And weares ye tailyor-man his 
coate 
But never, never payes I 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 

A LEGEND. 

At an old-fashioned inn, with a 

pendulous sign, 
Once graced with the head of the 

king of the kine, 
But innocent now of the slightest 

"design," 
Save calling low people to spurious 

wine, — 
While the villagers, drinking, «nd 

playing "all fours," 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 



77 



And cracking small jokes, with vo- 
ciferous roars, 

Were talking of horses, and hunt- 
ing, and — scores 

Of similar topics a bar-room 
adores. 

But which rigid morality greatly 
deplores. 

Till as they grew high in their bac- 
I chanal revels, 

' They fell to discoursing of witches 
and devils, — 
A neat single rap, 
Just the ghost of a tap. 

That would scarcely have wak- 
ened a flea from his nap, 

Kot at all in its sound like your 
: "Rochester Knocking," 

I (Where asses in hei-ds are diur- 
nally flocking, ) 

But twice as mysterious, and vast- 
ly more shocking, 

Was heard at the door by the peo- 
ple within. 

Who stopped in a moment their 
clamorous din. 

And ceased in a trice from their 

jokes and their gin ; 

When who should appear 

But an odd-looking sti-anger some- 
what " in the sere," 

(He seemed at the least in his 
sixtieth year,) 

And he limped in a manner ex- 
ceedingly queer. 

Wore breeches uncommonly wide 
in the rear. 

And his nose was turned up with 
a comical sneer, 

And he had in his eye a most vil- 
lanous leer, 

Quite enough to make any one 
tremble with fear ! 
Whence he came. 
And what was his name. 

And what his purpose in ventur- 
ing out. 

And whether his lameness was 
"gammon " or gout. 



Or merely fatigue from strolling 

about, 
Were questions involved in a great 

deal of doubt, — 
When, taking a chair, 
With a sociable air, 
Like that which your "Uncle" 's 

accustomed to wear. 
Or a broker detex-mined to sell you 

a share 
In his splended " New England 

Gold-mining" affair, 
He opened his mouth and went on 

to declare 
That he was a devil ! — " The devil 

you are! " 
Cried one of the guests assembled 

there, 
With a sudden start, and a fright- 
ened stare ! 
" Nay, don't be alarmed," the 

stranger exclaims, 
" At the name of the devil, — /'m 

the Devil of Names I 
You '11 wonder why 
Such a devil as I, 
Who ought, you would say, to be 

devilish shy, 
Should venture in here with never 

a doubt. 
And let the best of his secrets out; 
But mind you, my boys, 
It 's one of the joys 
Of the cunningest woman and 

craftiest man, 
To run as quickly as ever they 

can, 
And put a confidante under ban 
Not to publish their favorite plan ! 
And even the de'il 
Will sometimes feel 
A little of that remarkable zeal, 
And (when it 's safe) delights to 

tell 
The very deepest arcana of — 

wefl; — 
Besides, my favor this company 

wins, 
For I value next to capital sins 



78 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 



Those out-and-outers who revel in 
inns ! 
So, not to delay, 
1 'm going to say, 

In the very fullest and frankest 
way, 

All about my honors and claims, 

Projects and plans, and objects 
and aims, 

And why I 'm called ' The Devil 
of Names ! ' 
I cheat by false graces, 
And duplicate faces. 
And treacherous praises, 

And by hiding bad things under 
plausible phrases ! 
I '11 give you a sample. 
By way of example : 

Here 's a bottle befoi-e me, will 
suit to a T 

For a nice illustration : this liquor, 
d' ye see, 

Is the water of death, though to- 
pers agree 

To think it, and drink it, as pure 
' eau de vie ' ; 

1 know what it is, — that 's suf- 
ficient for me ! 

For the blackest of sins, and 
crimes, and shames, 

I find soft words and innocent 
names. 

The Hells devoted to Satan's games 

I christen ' Saloons ' and ' Halls,' 
and then, 

By another contrivance of mine 
again, 

They 're only haunted by ' sport- 
ing men,' — 

A phrase which many a gamester 
begs. 

In spite of the saw that eggs is 
eggs,' 

To whiten his nigritudinous legs ! 

" To debauchees I graciously 
grant 
The favor to be ' a little gallant,' 



And soften vicious vagrancy down, 

By civilly speaking of ' men about 
town ; ' 
There 's cheating and lying 
In selling and buying. 

And all sorts of frauds and dis- 
honest exactions, 

I 've brought to the smallest of 
moral infractions, 

Merely by naming them ' business 
transactions ' ! 

There 's swindling, now, is vastly- 
more fine 

As ' Banking,' — a lucky inven- 
tion of mine. 

Worth ten in the old diabolical 
line! 



"In lesser matters it 's all the 

same, 
I gain the thing by yielding the 

name; 
It 's really quite the broadest of 

jokes, 
But, on my honor, there 's plenty 

of folks 
So uncommonly fond of verbal 

cloaks. 
They can't enjoy the dinners they 

eat, 
Court the ' muse of the twinkling 

feet,' 
Laugh or sing, or do anything meet 
For Christian people, without a 

cheat 
To make their happiness quite 

complete ! 
The Boston saints 
Are fond of these feints ; 
A theatre rouses the loudest com, 

plaints. 
Till it 's thoroughly purged from 

pestilent taints. 
By the charm of a name and a 

pious Te Deum, — 
Yet they patronize actors, aD<^ 

handsomely fee 'em! 



YE PEDAGOGUE. 



79 



Keep (shade of ' the Howards ! ' ) a 

gay ' Athenaeum,' 
And have, above all, a harmless 

' Museum,' 
Where folks who love plays may 

religiously see 'em! 

" But leaving a trifle which cost 

me more trouble 
By far than the worth of so flimsy 

a bubble, 
I come to a matter Avhich really 

claims 
The studious care of the Devil of 

Names- 
There 's ' Charity ' now — " 

But the lecture was done. 

Like old Goody Morey's, when 
scarcely begun ; 

The devil's discourse by its serious 
teaching 

Had set 'em a-snoring, like regular 
preaching ! 

One look of disdain on the sleepers 
he threw. 

As in bitter contempt of the slum- 
bering crew, 

And the devil had vanished with- 
out more ado, — 

A trick, I suspect, that he seldom 
plays you ! 



YE PEDAGOGUE: 

A BALLAD. 
I. 

EiGHTE learned is ye Pedagogue, 
Fulle apt to reade and spelle, 

And eke to teache ye parts of 
speeche, 
And strap ye urchins welle. 



For as 't is raeete to soake ye 
feete. 

Ye ailinge heade to mende. 
Ye younker's pate to stimulate, 

He beats ye other ende ! 



Righte lordlie is ye Pedagogue 
As any turbaned Turke ; 

For welle to rule ye District 
Schoole, 
It is no idle worke. 



For oft Rebellion lurketh there 
In breaste of secrete foes. 

Of malice fulle, in waite to pulle 
Ye Pedagogue his nose ! 

V. 

Sometimes he heares with trem^ 
bliug feares, 
Of ye ungodlie rogue 
On mischieffe bent, with felle in- 
tent 
To licke ye Pedagogue ! 

VI. 

And if ye Pedagogue be smalle. 

When to ye battell led. 
In such a plighte, God sende him 
mighte 

To breake ye rogue his heade ! 



Daye after daye, for little paye, 
He teacheth what he can. 

And bears ve yoke, to please ye 
folke," 
And ye Committee-man. 

VIII. 

Ah ! many crosses hath he borne, 
And many trials founde. 

Ye while he trudged ye district 
through, 
And boarded rounde and rounded 



80 



A RHYMED EPISTLE. 



in. 



Ah! many a steake hath he de- 
voured, 

That, by ye taste and sighte, 
Was in disdaine, 't was very plaine, 

Of Daye his patent righte ! 

X. 

Fulle solemn is ye Pedagogue, 
Amonge ve noisy churls. 

Yet other while he hath a smile 
To give ye handsome girls ; 

XI. 

And one, — ye fayrest mayde of 

all, — 
To cheere his wayninge life, 
Shall be, when Springe ye flowers 

shall bringe, 
Ye Pedagogue his wife ! 



THE STAMMERING WIFE. 
I. 

When, deeply in love with Miss 

Emily Cline, 
I vowed, if the maiden would only 

be mine, 
I would always endeavor to 

please her. 
She blushed her consent, though 

the stuttering lass 
Said never a word, except " You 're 

an ass — 
An ass — an ass-iduous teaser ! " 

n. 

But when we were married I found 
to my ruth 

The stammering lady had spoken 
the truth, 
For often, in obvious dudgeon. 

She 'd say, — if I ventured to give 
her a jog 

In the way of reproof, — " You 're 
a dog — you 're a dog — 
A dog — a dog-matic curmud- 
geon! " 



And once when I said, "We caiw 

hardlv afford 
This extravagant style, with our 

moderate hoard, 
And hinted we ought to be wiser, 
She looked, I assure you, exceed- 

inglv blue. 
And fretfully cried, "You're a 

ju — you 're a ju — 
A very ju-dicious adviser! " 

IV. 

Again, when it happened that, 
wishing to shirk 

Some rather unpleasant and ar- 
duous work, 
I begged her to go to a neighbor, 

She wanted to know why I made 
such a fuss. 

And saucily said, " You 're a 
cus — cus — cus — 
You were always ac-cus-tomed 
to labor!" 

V. 

Out of temper at last with the in- 
solent dame. 

And feeling that Madam was great- 
ly to blame 
To scold me instead of caressing, 

I mimicked her speech— like a 
churl as I am — 

And angrily said, " You 're a dam 
— dam — dam — 
A dam -age instead of a bless- 
ing!" 



A RHYMED EPISTLE. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICK- 
ERBOCKER MAGAZINE. 

Dear Knick : While myself and 
my spouse 
Sat tea-ing last evening, and 
chatting. 
And, mindful of conjugal vows, 
Were nicely agreed in combat- 
ing, 



A RHYMED EPISTLE. 



81 



tt chanced that myself and my 
wife, 
( 'T was Madam occasioned the 
pother ! ) 
Falling suddenly into a strife, 
Came near falling out with each 
other ! 

In a brisk, miscellaneous chat, 
Quite in tune with the chime of 
the tea-things, 
We were talking of this and of that, 
Just as each of us happened to 
see things, 
When somehow or other it chanced, 
(I don't quite remember the cue,) 
That as talking and tea-ing ad- 
vanced. 
We found we were talking of 
you! 

I think — but perhaps I am wrong. 
Such a subtle old chap is Sug- 
gestion, 
As he forces each topic along 
By the trick of the " previous 
question " — 
Some remarks on a bacchanal 
revel 
Suggested that horrible elf 
With the hoof and the horns, — 
and the Devil, 
Excuse me, suggested yourself! 

"Ah! Knick, to be sure; by the 
way," 
Quoth Madam, " what sort of a 
man 
Do you take him to be ! — nay, but 
stay. 
And let me guess him out if I 
can. 
He 's j^oung, and quite handsome, 
"no doubt; 
Rather slendei*, and not over-tall ; 
And he loves a snug little turn-out. 
And turns out ' quite a love ' at 
a ball!" 



And then she went on to portray 

Such a very delightful ideal. 
That a sensible stranger would 
say 
It really could n't be real. 
" And his wife, what a lady must 
she be V 
(Knick 's married, that /know, 
and you know:) 
You '11 find her a delicate Hebe, 
And not your magnificent 
Juno! " 

Now I am a man, you must learn, , 

Less famous for beauty than 
strength, 
And, for aught I could ever dis- 
cern. 

Of rather superfluous length. 
In ti'uth 't is but seldom one meets 

Such a Titan in human abodes, 
And when I stalk over the streets, 

I 'm a perfect Colossus of roads! 

So I frowned like a tragedy-Roman, 
For in painting the beautiful 
elf 
As the form of your lady, the wo- 
man 
Took care to be drawing herself; 
While, mark you, the picture she 
drew 
So deuced con amove and free. 
That fanciful likeness of you, 
Was by no means a portrait of 
me! 

" How lucky for ladies," I hinted, 

" That in our republican land 
They may prattle, without being 
stinted. 
Of matters they don't under- 
stand ; 
I '11 show you, dear Madam, that 
' Knick ' 
Is n't dapper nor daintily slim, 
But a gentleman decently thick. 
With a manly extension of limb. 



82 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 



" And as to his youth, — talk of 
flowers 
Blooming gayly in frosty Decem- 
ber! 
I '11 warrant, his juvenile hours 
Are things he can scarcely re- 
member! 
Here, Madam, quite plain to be 
seen, 
Is the chap you would choose 
for a lover! " 
And, producing your own Maga- 
zine, 
I pointed elate to the cover ! 

" You see, ma'am, 't is just as I 
said. 
His locks are as gray as a rat ; 
Here, look at the crown of his head, 
'T is bald as the crown of my 
hat!" 
"Nay, my dear," interrupted my 
wife, 
Who began to be casting about 
To get the last word in the strife, 
" 'T is his grandfather's picture, 
no doubt! " 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

AN ECLOGUE. 
CLOVERTOP. 

I 'VE thought, my Cousin, it 's ex- 
tremely queer 

That you, who love to spend your 
August here, 

Don't bring, at once, your wife 
and children down, 

And quit, for good, the noisy, dusty 
town. 

SHILLINGSIDB. 

Ah ! simple swain, this sort of life 

may do 
For such a verdant Clovertop as 

you, 



Content to vegetate in summer air, 
And hibernate in winter— like a 
bear! 



CLOVERTOP. 

Here we have butter pure as vir- 
gin gold, 

And milk from cows that can a tail 
unfold 

With bovine pride; and new-laid 
eggs, whose praise 

Is sung by pullets with their morn- 
ing lays; 

Trout from the brook ; good water 
from the well ; 

And other blessings more than I 
can tell ! 



SHILLINGSIDB. 

There, simple rustic, we have 

nightly plays, 
And operatic music, — charming 

ways 
Of spending time and monej^ — 

lots of fun ; 
The Central Park — whene'er they 

get it done ; 
Barnum's Museum, full of things 

erratic. 
Terrene, amphibious, airy, and 

aquatic ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here we have rosy, radiant, romp-* 
ing girls. 

With lips of rubies, and with teeth 
of pearls ; 

I dare not mention half their witch' 
ing charms ; 

But, ah! the roundness of their 
milky arms. 

And, oh ! what polished shoulders 
they display, 

Bending o'er tubs upon a washing- 
day! 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 



83 



SHILLING SIDE. 

There we have ladies most superbly- 
made 

(By fine artistes, who understand 
their trade), 

Who dance the German, flirt a 
graceful fan, 

And speak such French as no 
Parisian can ; 

Who sing much louder than your 
country thrushes, 

And wear (\hank Phalon!) far 
more brilliant blushes ! 

CLOVERTOP. 
Here, boastful Shilling, we have 

flowery walks, 
Where you "mav stroll, and hold 

delightfur talks, 
(No saucy placard frowning as you 

pass, 
" Ten dollars' fine for walking on 

the grass! ") 
Dim-lighted groves, where love's 

delicious words 
Ai-e breathed to music of melodious 

birds. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There, silly Clover, dashing belles 

we meet, 
Sweeping with silken robes the 

dusty street; 
May gaze into their faces as they 

pass, 
Beneath the rays of dimly burning 

gas. 
Or, standing at a crossing when it 

rains. 
May see some pretty ankles for our 

pains. 

CLOYERTOP. 
Here you may angle for the 

speckled trout, 
Play him awhile, with gentle hand, 

about, 
Then, like a sportsman, pull the 

fellow out ! 



SHILLINGSIDE. 

Tliere too, is fishing quite as good, 

I ween, 
Where careless, gaping gudgeons 

oft are seen, 
Rich as yon pasture, and almost 

as green ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here you may see the meadow's 
grassy plain, 

Ripe, luscious fruits, and shocks of 
golden grain; 

And view, luxuriant in a hundred 
fields. 

The gorgeous wealth that boun- 
teous Nature yields ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There you may see Trade's won- 
drous strength and pride, 

Where merchant-navies throng on 
every side, 

And view, collected in Columbia's 
mart, 

Alike the wealth of Nature and of 
Art! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Cease, clamorous cit 3 I love these 
quiet nooks. 

Where one may sleep, or dawdle 
over books, 

Or, if he wish of gentle love to 
dream, 

May sit and muse by yonder bab- 
bling stream — 

SHILLINGSIDE. 
Dry up your babbling stream ! my 

Clovertop — 
Yoix 're getting garrulous; it's 

time to stop. 
I love the city, and the city's 

smoke ; 
The smell of gas ; the dust of coal 

and coke ; 
The sound of bells : the tramp of 

hurrying feet ; 



84 



THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. 



The sight of pigs and Paphians in 

the street; 
The jostHng crowd; the never- 
ceasing noise 
Of rattling coaches, and vociferous 

boys ; 
The cry of " Fire! " and the ex- 
citing scene 
Of heroes running with their mad 

"mersheen " ; 
Nay, now I think that I could even 

stand 
The direful din of Barnum's brazen 

band. 
So much I long to see the town 

again ! 
Good by ! I'm going by the evening 

train ! 
Don't fail to call whene'er you 

come to town, 
We '11 do the city, boy, and do it 

brown ; 
I 've really had a pleasant visit 

here. 
And mean to come again another 

year. 



THE FAMILY MAN. 

I ONCE was a jolly young beau, 
And knew how to pick up a fan, 

But I 've done with all thut, you 
must know. 
For now I 'm a family man ! 

When a partner I ventured to take, 
The ladies all favored the plan; 

They vowed I was certain to make 
*''Such an excellent family 
man ! ' ' 



If I travel by land or by water, 
I have charge of some Susan or 
Ann; 
Mrs. Brown is so sure that her 
daughter 
Is safe with a family man ! 



The trunks and the bandboxes 
round 'em 
With something like hoiTor I 
scan. 
But though I may mutter, " Con- 
found 'em! " 
I smile — like a family man ! 

I once was as gay as a templar, 
But levity 's now under ban; 

Young people must have an ex- 
emplar, 
And I am a family man ! , 

The club-men I meet in the city 
All treat me as well as they can; 

And only exclaim, " What a pity 
Poor Tom is a family man! " 

I own I am getting quite pensive ; 

Ten children, from David to Dan, 
Is a family rather extensive; 

But then — I 'm a family man! 



THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. 

A HOMILY. 

Come listen awhile to me, my lad; 

Come listen to me for a spell; 
Let that terrible drum 
For a moment be dumb. 

For your uncle is going to tell 
What befell 

A youth who loved liquor too well. 

A clever young man was he, my 

lad; 
And with beauty uncommonly 
blest, 
Ere, with brandy and wine, 
He began to decline. 
And behaved like a person pos- 
sessed ; 

I protest 
The temperance plan is the best- 



NE CREDE COLORI. 



85 



One evening he went to a tavern, 

my lad ; 
He went to a tavern one night, 
And drinking too mucii 
Rum, brandy, and such, 
The chap got exceedingly "tight " ; 

And was quite 
What your aunt would entitle a 
fright. 

The fellow fell into a snooze, my 

lad; 
'T is a horrible slumber he takes; 
He trembles with fear, 
And acts very queer; 
My eyes! how he shivers and 
shakes 

When he wakes, 
And raves about hon'id great 
snakes ! 

'T is a warning to you and to me, 

my lad ; 
A particular caution to all, — 
Though no one can see 
The vipers but he, — 
To hear the poor lunatic bawl : — 
" How they crawl ! — 
All over the floor and the wall ! " 

Next morning he took to his bed, 

my lad ; 
Next morning he took to his bed ; 
And he never got up 
To dine or to sup, 
i Though properly physicked and 



And I read, 
the poor fellow was 



bled; 

Next day, 
dead ! 

You 've heard of the snake in the 

grass, my lad ; 
Of the viper concealed in the grass; 
But now, you must know, 
Man's deadliest foe 
Is a snake of a different class ; 

Alas ! — 
'T is the viper that lurks in the 
glass ! 



A warning to you and to me, my 

lad; 
A very imperative call : — 
Of liquor keep clear; 
Don't drink even beer. 
If you'd shun all occasion to fall; 

If at all. 
Pray take it uncommonly small. 

And if you are partial to snakes, 

niy lad 
(A passion I think rather low), 
Don't enter, to see 'em, 
The Devil's Museum ! — 
'T is very much better to go 

(That's so!) 
And visit a regular show ! 



NE CREDE COLORI: 

OR, TBUST NOT TO APPEARANCES. 

The musty old maxim is wise. 
Although with antiquity hoary j 

What an excellent homily lies 
In the motto, Ne crede colori ! 

A blustering minion of Mars 
Is vaunting his battles so gory; 

You see some equivocal scars, 
And mutter, Ne crede colori ! 

A fellow solicits your tin 
By telling a runaway story; 

You look at his ebony skin. 
And think of, Ne crede colori ! 

You gaze upon beauty that vies 
With the rose and the lily in 
glory. 

But certain " inscrutable dyes " 
Remind you, Ne crede colon ! 

There 's possibly health in the flush 
That rivals the red of Aurora ; 

But brandy -and- water can blush, 
And whisper, Ne crede colori ! 



86 



CLARA TO CLOE. 



My story is presently done, 

Like the ballad of good Mother 
Morey ; 

But all imposition to shun, 
Kemember, Ne crede colori ! 



CLARA TO CLOE. 

AN EPISTLE FKOM A CITY LADY 
TO A COUNTRY COUSIN. 

Dear Cloe: — I'm deeply your 
debtor 
(Though the mail was uncom- 
monly slow) 
For the very agreeable letter 

You wrote me a fortnight ago. 
I know you are eagerly waiting 

For ail that I promised to write. 
But my pen is unequal to stating 
One'^half that my heart would 
indite. 

The weather is terribly torrid ; 

And writing 's a serious task; 
The new style of bonnet is horrid ; 

And so is the new-fashioned 



The former — but language would 
fail 
Were its epithets doubly as 
strong — 
The latter is worn with a tail 
Very ugly and tediously long ! 

And then as to crinoline — Gra- 
cious ! 
If you only could see Cousin 
Ruth! 
The pictures, for once, are vera- 
cious. 
And editors utter the truth ! 
I know you will think it a pity; 
And every one makes such a 
sneer of it; 



But there is n't a saint in the city 

Whose skirts are entirely cleat 
of it! 

And then what a fortune of stuff 
To cover the skeleton over ! — 
Charles says the idea is enough 
To frighten a sensible lover; 
And, pretending that we are to 
blame 
For every financial declension, 
Swears husbands must soon do the 
same, 
If wives have another "exten- 
sion " ! 

The town is exceedingly dull, 

And so is the latest new farce ; 
The parks are uncommonly full, 

But beaux are deplorabl}' scarce ; 
They're gone to the "Springs''' 
and the "Falls," 
To exhibit their greyhounds and 
graces. 
And recruit at — what Frederick 
calls — 
The Brandy-and- Watering Pla- 
ces! 

Since my former epistle, which 
carried 
The news of that curious plot, -^ 
Of Miss S. who ran off — and wa6 
married; 
Of Miss B. who ran off — an'' 
was not, — 
There is n't a whisper of scandal 
To keep gentle ladies in humof 
And Gossip, the pleasant old Van 
dal. 
Is dying for want of a rumor ! 
Clara. 

P. S. — But wasn't it funny? — 
Mrs. Jones, at a party last week, 

( The lady so proud of her monej'^, 
Of whom you have oft heard me 
speak,) 



CLOE TO CLARA. 



87 



Appeared so delightfully stupid, 
When she spoke, through the 
squeak of her phthisic. 
Of the statue of Psyche and Cupid 
As "the statute of Cuppid and 
Physic''! C. 



CLOE TO CLARA. 

A SARATOGA LETTER. 

Dear Clara : — I wish you were 
here: 
The prettiest spot upon earth ! 
With everything charming, my 
dear, — 
Beaux, badinage, music, and 
mirth ! 
Buch rows of magnificent trees. 
Overhanging such beautiful 
walks. 
Where lovers may stroll, if they 
please, 
And indulge in the sweetest of 
talks ! 

We go every morning, like geese, 

To drink'at the favorite Spring; 
Six tumblers of water apiece 

Is simply the regular thing; 
For such is its wonderful virtue. 

Though rather unpleasant at 
first. 
No quantity ever can hurt you, 

Unless you should happen to 
burst! 

And then, what a gossipping sight ! 

What talk about William and 
Harry ; 
How Julia was spending last night ; 

And why Miss Morton should 
marry ! 
Dear Clara, I 've happened to see 

Full many a tea-table slaughter; 
But, really,' scandal with tea 

Is nothing to scandal with water.' 



Apropos of the Spring — have you 
heard 
The quiz of a gentleman here 
On a pompous M. C. who averred 
That the name was remarkably 
queer ? 
"The Spring — to keep it from 
failing — 
With wood is encompassed 
about. 
And derives, from its permanent 
railing, 
The title of ' Congress,' no 
doubt!" 

'T is pleasant to guess at the rea- 
son. 
The genuine motive, which 
brings 
Such all-sorts of folks, in the sea- 
son, 
To stop a few days at the 
Springs. 
Some come to partake of the wa- 
ters 
(The sensible, old-fashioned 
elves); 
Some come to dispose of their 
daughters. 
And some to dispose of — them- 
selves ! 

Some come to exhibit their faces 

To new and admiring beholders ; 
Some come to exhibit their graces. 
And some to exhibit their shoul- 
ders; 
Some come to make people stare 
At the elegant dresses they 've 
got; 
Some to show what a lady may 
wear, 
And some — what a lady should 
not! 

Some come to squander their treas- 
ure, 
And some their funds to im- 
prove ; 



S8 



THE GREAT MAGICIAN. 



And some for mere love of pleas- 
ure, 
And some for the pleasure of 
love; 
And some to escape from the old, 

And some to see what is new; 
But most — it is plain to be told — 
Come here — because other folks 
do! 

And that, I suppose, is the reason 

Why / am enjoying, to-day, 
What''s called "the height — of 
the season" 
In rather the loftiest way. 
Good by — for now I must stop — 
To Charley's command I re- 
sign, — 
So I 'm his for the regular hop, 
But ever most tenderly thine, 
Cloe. 



THE GREAT MAGICIAN. 

Once, when a lad, it was my hap 
To gain my mother's kind per- 
mission 
To go and see a foreign chap 
Who called himself " The Great 
Magician " ; 
I recollect his wondrous skill 

In divers mystic conjurations, 
And how the fellow wroueht at 
will 
The most prodigious transforma- 
tions. 

I recollect the nervous man 

Within whose hat the great de- 
ceiver 
Broke eggs, as in a frying-pan. 
And took 'em smoking from the 
beaver ! 
1 recollect the lady's shawl 
Which the magician rent asun- 
der, 



And then restored; but, best of 
all, 
I recollect the Ribbon-wonder ! 

I mean, of course, the funny freak 
In which the wizard, at his 
pleasure, 
Spins lots of ribbons from his cheek 
(Where he had hid 'em, at his 
leisure). 
Yard after yard, of every hue, 
Comes blazing out, and still the 
fellow 
Keeps spinning ribbons, red and 
blue. 
And black, and white, and 
green, and yellow! 

I ne'er shall see another show 
To rank with the immortal 
" Potter's" ;3 
He 's dead and buried long ago, 
And others charm our sons and 
daughters ; 
Years — years have fled — alas! 
how quick, 
Since I beheld the Great Magi- 
cian, 
And yet I 've seen the Ribbon- 
Trick 
In many a curious repetition ! 

Thus, when an author I have read 
Who much amazed the world of 
letters 
With gems his fluent pen has shed, 
(All nicely pilfered from his 
betters, ) 
Presto ! — 't is done ! — and all 
complete. 
As in my youth's enraptured 
vision, 
I 've seen again the Ribbon-Feat, 
And thought about the Great 
Magician ! 

So, when a sermon I have heard 
Made up of bits of borrowed 
learning, 



THE BLARNEY STONE. 



89 



Some cheap mosaic which has 
stirred 
The wonder of the undiscern- 

Swift as a flash has memory then 
Recalled the ancient exhibition ; 

I saw the Ribbon-Trick again, 
And thought about the Great 
Magician ! 

So when some flippant man-o'- 
jokes, 
Though in himself no dunce was 
duller, 
Has dazzled all the simple folks 
With brilliant jests of every col- 
or, 
I 've whispered thus (while fast 
and thick 
The changes flashed across my 
vision): — 
" How well he plays the Ribbon- 
Trick ! 
By Jove! he beats the Great 
Magician." 

I ne'er shall see another show 
To rank with the immortal 
" Potter's"; 
He 's dead and bm-ied long ago, 
And others chai'm our sons and 
daughters ; 
Years, years have fled — alas! 
how quick. 
Since I beheld the Great Magi- 
cian, 
And yet I 've seen the Ribbon- 
Trick 
In many a curious repetition ! 



THE BLARNEY STONE. 



In Blarney Castle, on a crumbling 
tower. 
There lies a stone (above your 
ready reach), 



Which to the lips Imparts, 't is 
said, the power 
Of facile falsehood, and persua- 
sive speech ; 

And hence, of one who talks in 
such a tone. 

The peasants say, "He 's kissed 
the Blarney Stone! " 



Thus, when I see some flippant 
tourist swell 
With secrets wrested from an 
Emperor, 

And hear him vaunt his bravery, 
and tell 
How once he snubbed a Mar- 
quis, I infer 

The man came back — if but the 
truth were known — 

By way of Cork, and kissed the 
Blarney Stone ! 



So, when I hear a shallow dandy 

boast 
(In the long ear that marks a 

brother dunce) 
What precious favors ladies' lips 

have lost, 
To his advantage, I suspect, at 

once, 
The fellow 's lying; that the dog 

alone 
(Enough for him!) has kissed the 

Blarney Stone! 



When some fine lady, — ready to 
defame 
An absent beauty, with as sweet 
a grace, — 
With seeming rapture greets a 
hated name. 
And lauds her rival to her won- 
dering face ; 



90 



ODE TO THE pRINCE OF WALES- 



E'en Charity herself must freely- 
own 

Some women, too, have kissed the 
Blarney Stone ! 



When sleek attorneys, whose se- 
ductive tongues, 
Smooth with the unction of a 
golden fee, 

" Breathe forth huge falsehoods 
from capacious lungs " * 
(The words are Juvenal's), 't is 
plain to see 

A lawyer's genius is n't all his 
own; 

The specious rogue has kissed the 
Blarney Stone ! 



When the false pastor, from his 

fainting flock 
Withholds the Bread of Life, 

the Gospel news. 
To give them dainty words, lest he 

should shock 
The fragile fabric of the paymg 

pews, 
Who but must feel, the man, to 

Grace unknown. 
Has kissed, — not Calvary, — but 

the Blarney Stone l' 



ODE TO THE PKINCE OF 
WALES. 

INVITING HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
TO A COUNTRY COTTAGE. 

PRINCE of Wales ! 
Unless my judgment fails, 
You 've found your recent travel 
rather dreary ; 

* " Immsusa cavi spirant meudacia 
foUes." 



I don't expect an answer to the 

query, — 
But are n't you getting weary V 
Weary of Bells, and Balls, and 

grand Addresses ? 
Weary of Military and their 

messes V 
Weary of adulation and caresses ? 
Weary of shouts from the admiring 

masses ? 
Weary of worship from the upper 

* classes ? 
Weary of horses, may'rs, and 

asses ? 
Of course 't was kindly meant, — 
But don't you now repent 
Your good Mamma's consent 
That you should 6e, 
This side the sea. 
The "British Lion'''' which you 

represent ? 
Pray leave your city courtiers and 

their capers. 
And come to us: we 've no picto- 
rial papers; 
And no Reporters to distort your 

nose ; 
Or mark the awkward carriage of 

your toes ; 
Your style of sneezing, and such 

things as those; 
Or, meaner still, in democratic 

spite. 
Measure your Royal Highness by 

your height ! 



Then come to us ! 
We 're not the sort of folk to make 

a fuss. 
E'en for the President ; but 

then, my boy. 
We plumply promise you a special 

To Princes rarely known, 
And one you '11 never find about 

a throne. 
To wit, the bliss of being let alone I 



M THERS-IN-LA W. 



91 



No scientific bores ^om Athenae- 
ums; 

No noi?y guns, nur tedious te- 
deums, 

Shall vex your Royal Highness for 
a minute; 

A glass of lemonade, with " some- 
thing in it," 

A fragrant meerschaum, with the 
morning news. 

Or sweet Virginia "fine-cut," if 
you choose, — 

These, and what else your High- 
ness may demand 

Of simple luxury, shall be at hand, 

And at your royal service. Come ! 

come where you may gain 

(What advertisers oft have sought 
in vain) 
" The comforts of a home " ! 

Come, Prince of Wales ! we 
greatly need 

Your royal presence, Sir, — we do 
indeed : 

For why ? we have a pretty ham- 
let here. 

But then, you see, 't is equally as 
clear 

(Your Highness understands 
Shakesperian hints) 

A Hamlet is n't much without a 
Prince ! 



MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 

If you ever should marry, said 
Major McGarth, 

While smoking a pipe by my 
bachelor-hearth. 

If you ever should wed, — and I 
would n't employ 

A word to prevent it, my broth of 
a boy, — 

Remember that wedlock 's a com- 
pany where 



The parties, quite often, are more 
than a pair ; 

'T is a lott'ry in which you are 
certain to draw 

A wife, and, most likely, a mother- 
in-law ! 

What the latter may be all con- 
jecture defies: 

She is never a blank ; she is seldom 
a prize ; 

Sometimes she is silly; sometimes 
she is bold; 

Sometimes — rather worse ! — she 's 
a virulent scold. 

You dreamed of an angel to gladden 
your home, 

And with her — God help you ! -^ 
a harpy has come ; 

You fished for a wife without fail- 
ing or flaw, 

And find you have netted — a 
mother-in-law ! 

" Dear Anna," she says, " as you 
clearly may see. 

Has always been used to depending 
on me; 

Poor child! though the gentlest 
that ever was known. 

She could never be trusted a mo- 
ment alone ; 

Such sensitive nerves, and such 
delicate lungs ! " 

Cries the stoutest of dames with 
the longest of tongues. 

"Like mother like child; you re- 
member the saw ; 

I 'm weakly myself," says your 
mother-in-law ! 



But your mother-in-law, you dis- 
cover erelong. 

Though feeble in body, in temper 
is strong; 

And so you surrender, — what else 
can you do ? 



92 



NIL ADM IRAKI. 



She governs your wife, and your 
servants, and you ; 

And calls you a savage, the 
coai'sest of brutes, 

For trampling the carpet with mud 
on your boots ; 

And vows she committed a stupid 
'■'■ fox-paw'''' 

In rashly becoming your mother- 
in-law ! 

And so, said the Major, pray, let 

me advise 
The carefullest use of your ears 

and your eyes ; 
And, ceteris paribus, take you a 

maid 
(Of widows, my boy, I am some- 
thing afraid ! ) 
Who gives you — the darhng! — 

her hand and her love, 
With a sigh for her " dear sainted 

mother above! " 
From which the conclusion you 

safely may draw. 
She will never appear as your 

mother-in-law ! 



NIL ADMIRARI. 



When Horace in Vendusian groves 
Was scribbling wit or sipping 
" Massic," 
Or singing those delicious loves 

Which after ages reckon classic. 
He wrote one day — 't was no va- 
gary — 
These famous words : — Nil admi- 
rari ! 



"Wonder at nothing!" said the 
bard; 
A kingdom's fall, a nation's ris- 
ing, 



A lucky or a losing card. 

Are really not at all surprising; 
However men or manners vary, 
Keep cool and calm : Nil admirari! 



If kindness meet a cold return ; 
If friendship prove a dear delu- 
sion ; 
If love, neglected, cease to burn. 

Or die untimely of profusion, — 
Such lessons well may make us 

wary. 
But need n't shock ; Nil admirari ! 

IV. 

Does disappointment follow gain ? 
Or wealth elude the keen pur- 
suer V 
Does pleasure end in poignant 
pain ? 
Does fame disgust the lucky 
wooer, 
Or haply prove perversely chary ? 
' T was ever thus ; Nil admirari ! 



Does January wed with May, 
Or ugliness consort with beauty ? 

Does Piety forget to pray? 

And, heedless of connubial duty, 

Leave faithful Ann for wanton 
Mary ? 

'T is the old tale; Nil admirari! 

VI. : 

Ah! when the happy day we 
reach ' 

When promisers are ne'er de- 
ceivers ; 

When parsons practise what they 
preach. 
And seeming saints are all be- 
lievers, 

Then the old maxim you may vary, 

And say no more, Nil admirari I 



CARMEN L^TUM. 



93 



THE COQUETTE. 

A PORTRAIT. 

'■ You 're clever at drawing, I 
own," 
Said my beautiful cousin Lisette, 
As we sat by the window alone, 
" But say, can you paint a Co- 
quette? " 

*' She 's painted already," quoth I ; 
" Nay, nay! " said the laughing 
tisette, 
•• Now none of your joking, — but 
try 
And paint me a thorough Co- 
quette." 



" Well, cousin," at once I began 
In the ear of the eager Lisette, 

*' I '11 paint you as well as I can 
Tu^f -"^nderful thing, a Co- 



That won( 
quette. 



" She wears a most beautiful face," 
("Of course!" said the pretty 
Lisette,) 

" And is n't deficient in grace. 
Or else she were not a Coquette. 

" And then she is daintily made " 
(A smile from the dainty Lisette) 

" By people expert in the trade 
Of forming a proper Coquette. 

" She 's the winningest ways with 
the beaux," 
( " Go on ! " — said the winning 
Lisette, ) 
" But there is n't a man of them 
knows 
The mind of the fickle Coquette ! 

" She knows how to weep and to 
sigh," 
(A sigh from the tender Lisette,) 



" But her weeping is all in my 
eye, — 
Not that of the cunning Co- 
quette ! 

" In short, she 's a creature of art," 

("0 hush! " said the frowning 

Lisette, ) 

" With merely the ghost of a 

heart, — 

Enough for a thorough Coquette. 

" And yet I could easily prove " 
("Now don't!" said the angry 
Lisette,) 
" The lady is always in love, — 
In love with herself, — the Co- 
quette ! 

"There, —do not be angry! — 
you know, 
My -dear little cousin Lisette, 
'You told me a moment ago 

To paint you — a thorough Co- 
quette! " 



CARMEN LiETUM: 

RECITED, AFTER DINNER, BEFORE THE 
ALUMNI OF MIDDLEBURT COLLEGE, AT 
THEIR SEMI-CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, 
AUGUST 22, 1850. 

A RIGHT loving welcome, my true- 
hearted Brothers, 

Who have come out to visit the 
kindest of mothers; 

You may think as you will, but 
there is n't a doubt 

Alma Mater rejoices, and knows 
you are out ! 

Rejoices to see you in gratitude 
here, 



94 



CARMEN L^TUM. 



Returning to honor her fiftieth 

year. 
And while the good lady is so 

overcome 
With maternal emotion, she 's 

stricken quite dumb, 
(A thing, I must own, that 's 

enough to perplex 
A shallow observer, who thinks 

that the sex, 
Whatever may be their internal 

revealings. 
Can never be pained with un- 
speakable feelings, ) 
Indulge me, dear Brothers, nor 

think me ill-bred, 
If I venture a moment to speak in 

her stead. 
I, who, though the humblest and 

homeliest one, 
Feel the natural pride of a dutiful 

son. 
And esteem it to-day the profound- 

est of joys. 
That, not less than yourselves, I 

am one of the boys ! 



First as to her health, which, 
I 'm sorry to say. 

Has been better, no doubt, than 
she finds it to-day; 

Vet when you reflect she 's been 
somewhat neglected. 

She 's really as well as could well 
be expected ; 

And, spite of ill-treatment and 
permature fears, 

Is a hearty old lady, for one of her 
years. 

Indeed, I must tell you a bit of a 
tale. 

To show yon she 's feeling re- 
markably hale ; 

How she turned up her nose, but 
a short time ago. 

At a rather good-looking importu- 
nate beau, 



And how she refused, witn a 
princess-like carriage 

" A very respectable offer of mar- 
riage." * 

You see, my dear Brothers, a 
neighboring College 

Who values himself on the depth 
of his knowledge, 

With a prayer for her love, and an 
eye to her land, 

Walked"^up to the lady and offered 
his hand. 

For a minute or so she was all in 
a flutter. 

And had not a word she could 
audibly utter; 

For she felt in her bosom, beyond 
all concealing, 

A kind of a — sort of a — widow- 
like feeling! 

But recovering soon from the deli- 
cate shock. 

She held up her head like an old- 
fashioned clock. 

And, with proper composure, went 
on and defined. 

In suitable phrases, the state of her 
mind; 

Said she would n't mind changing 
her single condition. 

Could she fairly expect to improve 
her position; 

And thus, by some words of equiv- 
ocal scope. 

Gave her lover decided "permis- 
sion to hope." 

It were idle to talk of the billing 
and cooing 

The amorous gentleman used in 
his wooing; 

* Allusion is had, in this and subse- 
quent lines, to an unsuccessful attempt 
to unite Middlebury College -with the 
University of Vermont. The affair is 
here treated with the license of a din- 
ner poem, and with the partiality per- 
mitted to the occasion. 



CARMEN LuETUM. 



95 



Or how she replied to his pressing 
advances, 

His oscular touches and ocular 
glances ; — 

'T is enough that his courtship, by- 
all that is known, 

Was quite the old story, and much 
like your own ! 



Thus the raatter went on, till the 

ladv found out, 
One very fine day, what the rogue 

was about, — 
That all that he wanted was merely 

that power 
By marital license to pocket her 

dower, 
And then to discard her in sorrow 

and shame. 
Bereaved of her home and her 

name and her fame. 
In deep indignation she turned on 

her heel. 
With such withering scorn as a 

lady might feel 
For a knave, who, in stealing her 

miniature case, 
Should take the gold setting, and 

leave her the face ! 
But soon growing calm as the 

breast of the deep. 
When the breezes are hushed that 

the waters may sleep, 
She sat in her chair, like a digni- 
fied elf. 
And thus, while I listened, she 

talked to herself : — 
"Nay, 'twas idle to think of so 

foolish a plan 
As a match with this pert Univer- 
sity-man, 
For I have n't a chick but would 

redden with shame 
At the very idea of my losing my 

name ; 
And would feel that no sorrow so 

heavy could come 



To his mother as losing her excel- 
lent home. 

'T is true I am weak, but my chil- 
dren are strong. 

And won't see me suffer privation 
or wrong; 

So, away with the dream of con- 
nubial joys, 

I '11 stick to the homestead, and 
look to the boys! " 



How joyous, my friends, is the 
cordial greeting 

Which gladdens the heart at a 
family meeting; 

When brothers assemble at Friend- 
ship's old shrine 

To look at the present, and talk of 
" Lang Syne " ! 

Ah ! well I remember the halcyon 
years. 

Too earnest for laughter, too pleas- 
ant for tears. 

When life was a boon in yon clas- 
sical court. 

Though lessons were long, and 
though commons were short ! 

Ah ! well I remember those excel- 
lent men, 

Professors and tutors, who reigned 
o'er us then ; 

Who guided our feet over Science's 
bogs. 

And led us quite safe through Phi- 
losophy's fogs. 

Ah! well I "remember the Presi- 
dent's * face, 

As he sat at the lecture with dig- 
nified grace. 

And neatly unfolded the mystical 
themes 

Of various deep metaphysical 
schemes, — 

How he brightened the path of his 
studious flock, 

* Joshua Bates. D. D. 



96 



CARMEN LyETUM. 



As he gave them a key to that 

wonderful Locke ; " 
How he taught us to feel it was 

fatal indeed 
With too much reliance to lean 

upon Reid; 
That Stewart was sounder, but 

wrong at the last, 
From following his master a little 

too fast, — 
Then closed the discourse in a 

scholarly tone, 
With a clear and intelligent creed 

of his own. 
That the man had his faults it were 

safe to infer, — 
Though I really don't recollect 

what they were, — 
I barely remember this one little 

truth. 
When his case was discussed by 

the critical youth, 
The Seniors and Freshmen were 

sure to divide. 
And the former were all on the 

President's side ! 



And well I remember another, 

whose praise 
Were a suitable theme for more 

elegant lays ; 
But even in numbers ungainly and 

rough, 
I must mention the name of our 

glorious Hough ! 
Who does not remember ? for who 

can forget, 
Till Memory's star shall forever 

have set. 
How he sat in his place unaffected 

and bold. 
And taught us more truths than 

the lesson had told ? 
Gave a lift to " Old Nol," for the 

love of the right, 
And a slap at the Stuarts, with 

cordial spite ; 



And, quite in the teeth of conven. 
tional rules. 

Hurled his adjectives down upon 
tyrants and fools'? 

But, chief, he excelled in his prop- 
er vocation 

Of giving the classics a classic 
translation; 

In Latin and Greek he was almost 
oracular. 

And, what 's more to his praise, 
understood the vernacular. 

0, 't was pleasant to hear him 
make English of Greek, 

Till you felt that no tongue was 
inherently weak ; 

While Horace' in Latin seemed 
quite understated. 

And rejoiced like old Enoch in be- 
ing translated ! 



And others there were — but the 

hour would fail. 
To bring them all up in historic 

detail ; 
And yet I would give, ere the 

'moment has fled, 
A sigh for the absent, a tear for 

the dead. 
There 's not one of them all, where- 

e'er he may rove, 
In the shadows of earth, or the 

glories above. 
In the home of his birth, or in 

lands far away, 
But comes back to' be kindly re- 
membered to-day ! 



One little word more, and my 

duty is done ; — 
A health to our Mother, from each 

mother's son! 
Unfading in beauty, increasing in 

strength. 
May she flourish in health through 

the century's length ; 



POST-PRANDIAL VERSES. 



97 



And next when her children come 

round her to boast, 
May Esto perpetua then be the 

toast ! 



MY BOYHOOD. 

Ah me ! those joyous days are gone ! 
I little dreamt, till they were flown. 

How fleeting were the hours ! 
For, lest he break the pleasing 

spell. 
Time bears for youth a mufiied 
bell, 
And hides his face in flowers ! 

Ah ! well I mind me of the days. 
Still bright in memory's flattering 
rays, 
When all was fair and new ; 
When knaves were only found in 

books, 
And friends were known by friend- 
ly looks. 
And love was always true ! 

While yet of sin I scarcely 

dreamed, 
And everything was what it 

seemed, 
And all too bright for choice ; 
When fays were wont to guard 

my sleep, 
And Crusoe still could make me 

weep. 
And Santa Claus, rejoice! 

When Heaven was pictured to my 

thought 
(In spite of all my mother taught 

Of happiness serene) 
A theatre of boyish plays, — 
One glorious round of holidays. 

Without a school between ! 

Ah me ! those joyous days are gone ; 
I little dreamt, till they were flown. 
How fleeting were the hours ! 
7 



For, lest he break the pleasing 

spell. 
Time bears for youth a muffled 

bell, 
And hides his face in flowers 1 



POST-PRANDIAL VERSES. 

RECITED AT THE FESTrVAL OF THE PSI 
UPSttON FRATEENITY, IN BOSTON, JULY 
21, 1853. 

Dear Brothers, who sit at this 

bountiful board. 
With excellent viands so lavishly 

stored 
That, in newspaper phrase, 'twould 

undoubtedly groan. 
If groaning were but a convivial 

tone. 
Which it is n't, — and therefore, 

by sympathy led. 
The table, no doubt, is rejoicuijj^ 

instead. 
Dear Brothers, I rise, — and it 

won't be surprising 
If you find me, like bread, all the 

better for rising, — 
I rise to express my exceeding 

delight 
In our cordial reunion this glorious 

night ! 

Success to "Psi Upsilon!" — 
Beautiful name ! — 

To the eye and the ear it is pleasant 
the same ; 

Many thanks to old Cadmus who 
made us his debtors. 

By inventing, one day, those capi- 
tal letters 

Which still, from the heart, we 
shall know how to speak 

When we 've fairly forgotten the 
rest of our Greek J 



98 



THE SILVER WEDDING, 



To be open and honest in all that 

you do ; 
To every high trust to be faithful 

and true ; 
In aught that concerns morality's 

scheme, 
To be more ambitious to he than 

to seem ; 
To cultivate honor as higher in 

worth 
Than favor of fortune, or genius, 

or birth ; 
By every endeavor to render your 

lives 
As spotless and fair as your — 

possible wives ; 
To treat with respect all the inno- 
cent rules 
That keep us at peace with socie- 
ty's fools; 
But to face every canon that e'er 

was designed 
To batter a town or beleaguer a 

mind. 
Ere you yield to the Moloch that 

Fashion has reared 
One jot of your freedom, or hair 

of your beard, — 
All this, and much more, I might 

venture to teach. 
Had I only a " call "~^ and a 

" license to preach " ; 
But since I have not, to my mod- 
esty true, 
I '11 lay it all by, as a layman 

should do. 
And drop a few lines, tipt with 

Momus's flies. 
To angle for shiners — that lurk in 

your eyes ! 



May you ne'er get in love or in 

debt with a doubt 
As to whether or no you will ever 

get out ; 
May you ne'er have a mistress who 

plays the coquette, 



Or a neighbor who blows on a 

cracked clarionet; 
May you learn the first use of a 

lock on your door, 
And ne'er, like Adonis, be killed 

by a bore ; 
Shun canting and canters with 

resolute force ; 
(A "canter" is shocking, except 

in a horse;) 
At jovial parties mind what you 

are at. 
Beware of your head and take care 

of your hat, 
Lest you find that a favorite son 

of your mother 
Has a brick in the one and an ache 

in the other ; 
May you never, I pray, to worry 

your life. 
Have a weak-minded friend, or a 

strong-minded wife ; 
A tailor distrustful, or partner sus- 
picious ; 
A dog that is rabid, or nag that is 

vicious; 
Above all — the chief blessing the 

gods can impart — 
May you keep a clear head and a 

generous heart; 
Remember 't is blessed to give and 

forgive ; 
Live chiefly to love, and love while 

you live ; 
And dying, when life's little jour- 
ney is done, 
May your last, fondest sigh, be 

P/S/Upsilon! 



THE SILVER WEDDING. 

TO JOHN NEWMAN, D, D. 

A WEDDING of Silver ! — and 
what shall we do?" 

I said in response to my excellent 
spouse, 



LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT. 



99 



Who hinted, this morning, we ought 
to renew. 
According to custom, our con- 
jugal vows. 



" I would n't much mind it, now — 
if — and suppose — 
The bride were a blooming — 
[ Ah ! well — on my life, 

I think — to be candid — (don't 
turn up your nose ! ) 
j That every new wedding should 
I bring a new wife! " 

•' And what if it should '? " was the 
j laughing reply ; 

I " Do you think, ray dear John, 
' you could ever" obtain 

Another so fond and so faithful as I, 
Should you purchase a wig, and 
go courting again ? " 

" Ah! darling," I answered, "'tis 
, just as you say "; 

I And clasping a waist rather 
shapely than small 
I kissed the dear girl in so ardent 
a way 
You would n't have guessed we 
were married at all ! 

' My wedding-day, Doctor, is also 
your own! 
And so I send greeting to bride- 
groom and bride, — 
The latter a wife good as ever was 
known ; 
The former well worthy her hom- 
age and pride. 



firod bless your new nuptials ! — 
Still happy at home. 
May you both grow serenely and 
gracefully old; 



And, till the auriferous wedding 
shall come, 
Find the years that are past were 
as silver to gold ! 

September 9, 1866. 



LOOKING OUT INTO THE 
NIGHT. 

Looking out into the night, 

I behold in space afar 

Yonder beaming, blazing star; 
And I marvel at the might 

Of the Giver of the rays, 

And I worship as I gaze, 
Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
I espy two lovers near. 
And their happy words I hear, 

While their solemn troth they 
plight; 
And I bless the loving twain. 
Half in pleasure, half in pain, — 

Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
Lo ! a woman passing by. 
Glancing round with anxious 
eye. 
Tearful, fearful of the light; 
And I think what might have 

been 
But for treachery and sin, — 
Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
I behold a distant sail 
Roughly beaten by the gale 

Till it vanishes from sight ; 
And I ponder on the strife 
Of our fleeting human life, , 

Looking out into the night. 



100 



DE MU8A. 



Looking out into the night, 
I bethink me of the rest 
And the rapture of the blest 

In the land where all is light; 
Sitting on the heavenly shore, 
Weeping never, — nevermore 

" Looking out into the night! " 



THE OLD YEAE AND THE 

NEW. 

Good by. Old Year! I can but 

say, 
Sadly I see thee passing away; 
Passing away with the hopes and 

fears, 
The bliss and pain, the smiles 

and tears, 
That come to us all in all the 
years. 

Good by. Old Year ! Little indeed 
Thy friendly voice we were wont 
to heed. 
Telling us, warning us every 

day: — 
"Transient mortals! work and 

pray ; 
You, like me, are passing 
away! " 

Good by. Old Year! Whatever 

may be 
The sins and stains thou hast 
chanced to see, 
Consider, Year ! to purge the 

same. 
And wash away the sin and 

shame, 
Whilst thou wert passing, 
Christmas came ! 

Good by, Old Year ! With words 

of grace 
Leave us to him who takes thy 

place ; 



And say, Old Year, unto the 

New, 
" Kindly, carefully, carry them 

through. 
For much, I ween, they have 

yet to do! " 



DE MUSA. 

"Write a poem — solemn — ear- 
nest — 
Worthy of your muse! " 
Ah! when loving lips command 
me. 
How can I refuse ? 
But the subject! — that's the 
pother — 
What am I to choose ? 

War? The theme is something 
hackneyed ; 
Since old Homer's time. 
Half the minstrels, large and 
little. 
Have been making rhyme 
With intent to prove that murder 
(Wholesale) is sublime! 

Love V A most delicious topic ; 

But how many score. 
Nay, how many thousand poets 

Deal in Cupid's lore. 
From Anacreon to Catullus, 

Not to mention Moore. 

Grief ? Ah ! little joy has Sorrow 

In the mimic art ; 
Can the lyre's melodious moaning 

Ease the mourner's smart. 
Though the sti'ings were very fibres 

Of the player's heart'? 

Nature, — posies, woods and wa 
ters? 
Everlasting themes, — 



ROGER BON TEMPS. 



101 



Can the poets, in the rapture 
Of then- finest dreams, 

Paint the hly of the valley- 
Fairer than she seems '? 

Metaphysics V Quite in fashio«i, — 

But Apollo's curse 
Blasts the syllogistic rhyme-v; 

Why should I rehearse 
Kant in cantos, or old rioto 

Torture into verse ? 

Humor, satire, fun and fancy, 
Wit with wisdoni blent, — 

These, to give my Muse amuse- 
ment, 
Heaven ha^ kindly lent; 

Let hfir li^e and die a-laughing, 
i s\i?ll be content I 



AUGUSTA. 

" Incedit regina! " 

** Handsome and haughty! " — a 
comment that came 
From lips which were never ac- 
customed to malice ; 
A. girl with a presence superb as 
her name, 
And charmingly fitted for love — 
in a palace ! 
And oft I have wished (for in mus- 
ing alone 
One's fancy is apt to be very 
erratic) 
That the lady might wear — No ! 
I never will own 
A thought so decidedly undemo- 
cratic ! — 
But ift were a coronet — this I '11 
aver, 
No duchess on earth could more 
gracefully wear it; 



And even a democrat, thinking of 
he,r, 
Might surely be pardoned for 
wishing to share it ! 



ROGER BONTEMPS. 



IMITATED FROM BERANGER. 



By way of good example 

To all the gloomy clan. 
There came into existence 

Good Robin Merryman. 
To laugh at those who grumble, 

And be jolly as he can, — 
that 's the only system 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



A hat so very ancient 

It might have covered 
Adorned, on great occasions, 

With ivy-leaves or roses ; 
A coat the very coarsest 

Since tailoring began, — 
that 's the gay apparel 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



Within his cottage Robin 

With joyful eye regards 
A table 'and a bedstead, 

A flute, a pack of cards, 
A chest, with nothing in it. 

An earthen water-can, — 
these are all the riches 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



To teach the village children 
The funniest kind of plays ; 

To tell a clever story ; 
To dance on holidays ; 



102 



THE KING OF NORMANDY. 



To puzzle through the almanac ; 

A merry song to scan, — 
that is all the learning 

Of Kobin Merryman ! 



To drink his mug of cider, 

And never sigh for wine ; 
To look at courtly ladies. 

Yet think his Mag divine ; 
To take the good that 's going. 

Content with Nature's plan, — 
that is the philosophv 

Of Robin Merryman f 



To say, " Gracious Father! 

Excuse my merry pranks ; 
For all thy loving-kindness 

I give thee hearty thanks ; 
And may I still be jolly 

Through life's remaining 
span," — 
that 's the style of praying 

With Robin Merryman ! 



Now, all ye wretched mortals 

Aspiring to be rich; 
And ye whose gilded coaches 

Have tumbled in the ditch ; 
Leave off your silly whining. 

Adopt a wiser plan ; 
Go follow the example 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



THE KING OF NORMANDY. 
|From B4ranger's " Le Roi d'Yvetot.") 



In Normandy there reigned a king 
(I 've quite forgot his name) 



Who led a jolly sort of life, 

And did n't care for fame- 
A nightcap was his crown of state, 
Which Jenny placed upon his 
pate. 
Ha! ha! laugh and sing: 
was n't he a funny king? 



He ate his meals, like other folk, 

Slept soundly and secure, 
And on a donkey every year 

He made his royal tour; 
A little dog — it was his whim — 
Was body-guard enough for him. 
Ha! ha! laugh and sing: 
was n't he a funny king? 



A single foible he confessed, — 

A tendency to drink ; 
But kings who heed their subjects' 
need 
Should mind their own, I think; 
And thus it was his tax he got, — 
For every cask an extra pot. 
Ha! ha! laugh and sing: 
was n't he a funny king? 



The lasses loved this worthy king; 

And many a meny youth 
Would hail his majesty as " Sire," 

And often spoke the truth. 
He viewed his troops in goodly 

ranks. 
But still their cartridges were 
blanks. 
Ha ! ha ! laugh and sing : 
was n't he a funny king? 



He never stole his neighbors' land 

To magnify his realm ; 
But steered his little ship of state 

With honor at the helm; 



THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID. 



103 



And when at last the king was 
dead, 

No wonder all the people said, — 
"Ah! ah! weep and sing: 
was n't he a uoble king? " 



THE HUNTER AND THE 
MILKMAID. 

(From B^ranger's " Le Chasseur et la 
Laitiere.") 



The lark is singing her matin lay, 
come with me, fair maiden, I 

pray; 
Sweet, sweet is the morning 

hour. 
And sweeter still is yon ivied 

bower; 
Wreaths of roses I '11 twine for thee, 
come, fair maiden, along with 

me! 
Ah! Sir Hunter, my mother is 

near; 
I really must n't be loitering 

here. 



Thy mother, fair maiden, is far 

away. 
And never will listen a word we 

say. 
I '11 sing thee a song that ladies 

sing 
In royal castles to please the king; 
A wondrous song, whose magical 

charm 
Will keep the singer from every 

harm. 
Fie ! Sir Hunter, a fig for your 

song. 
Good by! for I must be going 

along. 



Ah ! well, if singing will not pre- 
vail, 
I '11 tell thee, then, a terrible tale; 
'T is all about a Baron so bold. 
Huge and swart, and ugly and old, 
Who saw the ghost of his murdered 

wife, — 
A pleasant story, upon my life ! 
Ah ! Sir Hunter, the story is flat; 
/ know one worth a dozen of 
that. 



I '11 teach thee, then, a curious 

prayer 
Of wondrous power the wolf to 

scare. 
And frighten the witch that hovers 

nigh 
To blight the young with her evil 

eye. 
guard, fair maiden, thy beauty 

well, 
A fearful thing is her wicked spell ! 
0, I can read my missal, you 

know. 
Good by, Sir Hunter, for I must 

go. 



Nay, tarry a moment, my charm- 
ing girl : 

Here is a. jewel of gold and pearl; 

A beautiful cross it is, I ween. 

As ever on beauty's breast was 
seen. 

There 's nothing at all but love to 
pav; 

Take it, and wear it, but only stay ! 
Ah ! Sir Hunter, what excellent 

taste ! 
/'w not — in such — particular 
— haste! 



104 



THE DINNER. 



THE POET TO HIS GARRET. 

(prom beranger.) 

Thrice welcome the place where 
at twenty I sought 
A nest for myself and my darling 
grisette ; 
Where I learned the queer lessons 
that poverty taught, 
And with friendship and love 
banished care and regret. 
'T was here that we managed our 
social affairs, 
Unheeding what dunces or sages 
might say ; 
How lightly I bounded up six pair 
o' stairs! 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 

'T was only a garret! the table 
stood here; 
And there a flock-bed, — 'twas 
the best we could get ; 
And here on the plaster in charcoal 
appear 
Three lines of a poem, un- 
finished as yet. 
"Comeback to me, Pleasures!" 
I eagerly shout ; 
" To keep you alive in my juve- 
nile day 
How oft my repeater was ' put up 
the spout! ' " 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 
My laughing Lisette! would she 
only come back. 
In her jaunty straw bonnet how 
charming was she ! 
Full well I remember her dexterous 
knack 
Of hanging her shawl where the 
curtain should be ; 
Love ! kiss her silk gown with your 
fondest caress ; 
You know where she got it, I 
venture to say. 



I never was certain who paid for 
the dress ; 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 

One notable day in those glorious 
years. 
As we sat in the midst of our 
feasting and fun, 
A shout from the people saluted 
our ears, 
"Napoleon is victor! Marengo 
is won! " 
A new song of triumph at once we 
essayed, 
While cannon were blazing an^ 
booming away, 
" The free soil of France kings 
shall never invade! " 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 

Away ! I must go lest my reason 
should reel ; 
For one of those days I would 
cheerfully give, 
With the pulses of youth that no 
longer I feel. 
All the lingering years I am des- 
tined to live; 
The love, hope, and joy that at 
twenty I had, 
To have them condensed in one 
glorious day, 
Like those that I spent when a 
light-hearted lad ! 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 



THE DINNER. 

FROM THE GERMAN OP GOETHE. 

Ah ! many a guest is coming 
Around my table to-day; 

The fish, the flesh, and the poultry 
Are smoking in goodly array; 



FOOLS INCORRIGIBLE. 



105 



The invitations were special, 
They say they will surely ap- 
pear. 

Hans, go look at the window; 
Time that the people were here I 

Girls are coming by dozens, 
Maidens whom even their foes 

Never have once detected 
Kissing beneath the rose; 

Such are the damsels invited ; 

They said they would surely ap- 
pear. 

Hans, go look at the window; 
Time that the maidens were 
here! 

Plenty of fine young fellows 

Are coming to drink my health; 
Civil, and moral, and modest. 

Spite of their titles and wealth. 
The invitations were early ; 

They say they will surely ap- 
pear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the younkers were 
here! 

Plenty of wives are coming, 

Such as the ugliest spouse 
Never has driven a moment 

To think of breaking their vows. 
How pleasant to see them together ! 

They said they would surely ap- 
pear; 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the women were here I 

Husbands also are coming, 

Models of temperate lives ; 
Men who are blind to beauty, 

Save in their excellent wives. 
All were politely invited, 

And say they will surely ap- 
pear; 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the fellows were here ! 



Poets are also invited ; 

The pleasantest ever were 
known ; 
Who list to another's verses 

Cheerfully as to their own ; 
What capital dining companions ! 

They said they would surely 
appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the poets were here ! 

Alas ! with watching and waiting, 

The dinner is certainly spoiled ; 
The viands are cold in the dishes. 

The roast and the baked and the 
boiled. 
Perhaps we were over-punctilious; 

Our feast is a failure, I fear. 
Hans, come away from the win- 
dow; 

Never a one will be here ! 



FOOLS INCORRIGIBLE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
I. 

All the old sages, however indeed 
They wrangle and fight in the 
bitterest way. 
In one thing, at least, are fully 
agreed: 
They wink at each other and 
laughingly say, 
For the mending of fools it is fool- 
ish to wait, 
Fools will befools as certain as fate. 
Sons of Wisdom! make 'em 

your tools ; 
That, only that, is the use of 
fools ! 

II. 
Merlin, the ancient, long in his 
shroud, 
Where I accosted him once in 
my youth, 



106 



THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. 



Unto my questioning answered 
aloud, 
Solemnly speaking this notable 
truth : 
For the mending of fools it is fool- 
ish to watt, 
Fools will befools as certain as fate. 
Sons of Wisdom! maJce ''em 

your tools ; 
That, only that, is the tise of 
fools I 



High on the top of an Indian mound 
Iheard it once in the passing air; 
And Egypt's vaults, deep under the 
ground, 
The same old tale were echoing 
there : 
For the mending of fools it is fool- 
ish to wait, 
Fools will befools as certain as fate. 
Sons of Wisdom! make 'ew 

your tools, 
That, only that, is the use of 
fools ! 



THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

I HAVE a man as good as can be. 
No woman could wish for a better 

than he. 
Sometimes, indeed, he may chance 

to be wrong. 
But his love for me is imcommonly 

strong. 

He has one little fault that makes 

me fret, 
He has ever less money, by far, 

than debt : 



Moreover, he thrashes me now anO 

then; 
But, excepting that, he 's the best 

of men ! 

I own he is dreadfully given to 

driak. 
Besides, he is rather too fond, I 

think. 
Of playing at cards and dice ; but 

then, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of 

men! 

He loves to chat with the girls, I 

know 
('T is the way with men, they are 

always so), 
But what care I for his flirting, 

when, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of 

men? 

When soaked with rum, he is hard- 
ly polite, 

But knocks the crockery left and 
right, 

And pulls my hair, and growls 
again ; 

But, excepting that, he 's the best 
of men 1 

I can't but say I think he is rash 
To pawn my pewter, and spend 

the cash, 
But I have n't the heart to scold 

him, when, 
Excepting that, he *s the best of 

men I 

What joy to think he is all my own ! 
The best of husbands that ever was 

known ; 
As good, indeed, as a man can be; 
And who could wish for a better 

than he V 



LOVE POEMS 



LOYE POEMS. 



WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO 
KNOW? 

A MADRIGAL. 
I. 

I KNOW a girl with teeth of pearl, 
And shoulders white as snow; 

She lives, — ah ! well, 

I must not tell, — 
Would n't you like to know? 



Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, 
And wavy in its flow; 

Who made it less 

One little tress, — 
Would n't you like to know? 



Her eyes are blue (celestial hue!) 
And dazzling in their glow ; 
On whom they beam 
With melting gleam, — 
Would n't you like to know? 



Her lips are red and finely wed, 
Like roses ere they blow ; 
What lover sips 
Those dewy Kps, — 
Would n't you like to know? 



Her fingers are like lilies fair 
When lilies fairest grow ; 
Whose hand they press 
With fond caress, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



Her foot is small, and has a fall 
Like snowflakes on the snow ; 
And where it goes 
Beneath the rose, — 
Would n't you like to know? 



She has a name, the sweetest 

name 
That language can bestow. 

'T would break the spell 

If I should tell, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



THE LOVER'S VISION. 



In my watching or my dreaming, 
Came to me a blessed vision; 

Whether real or but seeming, 
Boots me not to make decision : 
This I know — 't was all elysian. 



110 



UNREST. 



By me sat a maiden fairer 
Than the Oda's king possesses; 

But I wrong her to compare her. 
Happy, happy whom she blesses 
With her kisses and caresses ! 



Golden hair, like sunlight stream- 
ing 
On the marble of her shoulder, 
That with soft and snowy gleaming 
Witched the eye of the behold- 
er, 
Dazed me, crazed me to enfold 
her! 



Heart to heart we sat together ; 
(Ah, to feel her bosom's beat- 
ing!) 

Hand in hand in loving tether. 
Lip with lip in rapture meeting, 
Parting but for closer greeting. 

V. 

Oft and oft I would be dreaming, 
Could I bring that happy vision ! 

Was it real, or but seeming? 
Boots me not to make decision : 
This I know — 't was all elysian. 



THE OATH. 
" Don't forget me! " sighing sad- 

) ^y» 

So my darling bade farewell, 
Haply deeming I would gladly 
Disenchant me of her spell. 

Ah, the siren ! when did Beauty 
Ask in vain Love's simple debt? 



Or whene'er did languid Duty 
Heed the warning, "Don't for- 
get"? 

By her eyes where love reposes, 
By her wealth of golden hair. 

By her cheek's ungathered roses, 
By her neck divinely fair, 

By her bosom, throne of blisses, 
Hiding from the wanton light, 

Pale with envy at the kisses 
That her bolder lips invite ; 

By the hours so sweetly squandered 
In the summer afternoons ; 

By the orchard where we wandered 
In the sheen of harvest moons ; 

By the poets, new and olden, 
Who in pity lent us speech 

For the fancies, rare and golden, 
That our words could never 
reach, — 

By all these my oath is given: 

Though my soul remember not- 
Earthly fame or hope of heaven, 
She shall never be forgot ! 



UNREST. 

One o'clock ! and still I ponder 
On the joys of yesterday; 

Never lover weaker, fonder, 
Sighed the weary hours away, 

Ill-content with saying, singing. 
All its worship o'er and o'er; 

Still the heart would fain be cling- 
ing 
Round its idol, evermore I 



TO LESBIA. 



Ill 



Half in pleasure, half in sorrow, 
Thinking o'er each fex-vent 
kiss, 

Still I vainly strive to borrow 
From the Past its buried bliss. 

Now I hear her fondly sighing, 
As when late we sat alone. 

While the dancer's feet were fly- 
ing*— 
Ah ! the sigh is but my own ! 

" Thus my darling I would smoth- 
er! " 

In my dreaming oft I say. 
Foolish lips, that kiss each other ! 

Hers, alas ! are far away. 

On my cheek I feel the billow 
Of her glowing bosom beat, — 

Ah ! 't is but the pulseless pillow ! 
Shall I curse or bless the cheat i 

Dreaming, waking, I am weary. 

Would that morning might ap- 
pear! 
0, 't is dreary, very dreary, 

Thus to love, and not be near! 



TO MY LOVE. 
" Da mi basia. " — Catullus. 

I. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low; 
Malice has ever a vigilant ear; 
What if Malice were lurking 
near ? 
Kiss me, dear ! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low. 



Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low; 
Envy too has a watchful ear; 
What if Envy should chance to 
hear V 
Kiss me, dear ! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low. 

in. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low; 
Trust me, darling, the time is 

near 
When we may love with never 
a fear; 
Kiss me, dear! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me 
low. 



TO LESBIA. 

** On s'embrasse k chaque instant, 
Puis encore ! " 

Victor Hugo. 



Give me kisses ! Do not stay, 
Counting in that careful way. 
All the coins your lips can print 
Never will exhaust the mint. 

Kiss me, then. 
Every moment — and again ! 



Give me kisses ! Do not stop, 
Measuring nectar by the drop. 
Though to millions they amount, 
They will never drain the fount. 

Kiss me, then. 
Every moment — and again! 



112 



DARLING, TELL ME YES. 



Give me kisses ! All is waste 
Save the luxury we taste ; 
And for kissing, — kisses live 
Only when we take or give. 

Kiss me, then, 
Every moment — and again ! 



Give me kisses! Though their 

worth 
Far exceeds the gems of earth, 
Never pearls so rich and pure 
Cost so little, I am sure. 

Kiss me, then, _ 
Every moment — and again! 



Give me kisses! Nay, 't is true 
I am just as rich as you ; 
And for every kiss I owe, 
I can pay you back, you know. 

Kiss me, then, 
Every moment — and again ! 



MY SAXON BLONDE. 

They say the dark-eyed maids of 
Spain 
Are passionate and fond ; 
But eyes of blue are tender and 

true, — 
1 Give me my Saxon blonde ! 

An arch coquette is the bright 
brunette, 
Blithe and merry and gay ; 
Her love may last till the Summer 
is past, 
But my blonde' s forever and aye ! 

If bards of old the truth have told, 
The Sirens have raven hair; 



But o'er the earth, since art had 
birth. 
They paint the Angels fa?r. 

Ah! well, maybe, the truth to 
see, 
A lover is over fond ; 
And I can't deny — nor will 1 
try — 
My love is a golden blonde ! 



DARLING, TELL ME YES. 

A SONG. 
I. 

One little moment more, Mand ; 

One little whisper more ; 
I have a word to speak, Maud, 

I never breathed before. 
What can it be but love, Maud? 

And do I rightly guess 
'T is pleasant to your ear, Maud? 

darling ! tell me yes ! 



The burden of my heart, Maud, 

There 's little need to tell; 
There 's little need to say, Maud, 

I 've loved you long and well. 
There 'slanguage in a sigh, Maud, 

One's meaning to express; 
And yours — was it for me, Maud ? 

darling ! tell me yes ! 



My eyes have told my love, Maud; 

And on my burning cheek 
You 've read the tender thought, 
Maud, 

My lips refused to speak. 
I gave you all my heart, Maud, 

'T is needless to confess; 



TIME AND LOVE. 



113 



And did you give me yours, 
Maud ? 
darling ! tell me yes ! 



'T is sad to starve a love, Maud, 

So worshipful and true ; 
I know a little cot, Maud, 

Quite large enough for two ; 
And you will be my wife, Maud ? 

So may you ever bless. 
Through all your sunny life, 
Maud, 

The day you answered yes ! 



TIME AND LOVE. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Old Time and young Love, on a 
morning in May, 
Chanced to meet by a river in 
halcyon weather, 
And, agreeing for once, ('t is a 
fable, you '11 say, ) 
In the same little boat made a 
voyage together. 

Strong, steady, and patient. Time 
pulled at his oar, 
And swift o'er the water the 
voyagers go ; 
But Love, who was thinking of 
Pleasure on shore, 
Complained that his boatman 
was wretchedly slow. 

But Time, the old sailor, expert at 
his ti-ade. 
And knowing the leagues that 
remained to be done. 
Content with the regular speed 
that he made, 
Tugged away at his oar and kept 
steadily on. 
"8 



Love, always impatient of doubt 
or delay. 
Now sighed for the aid of the 
favoring gales, 
And scolded at Time, in the sau- 
ciest way. 
For not having furnished the 
shallop with sails. 

But Time, as serene as a calendar 
saint, 
(Whatever the graybeard was 
thinking upon,) 
AU deaf to the voice of the younk- 
er's complaint, 
Tugged awaj- at his oar and kept 
steadily on. 

Love, vexed at the heart, only 
clamored the more. 
And cried, "By the gods! in 
what country or clime 
Was ever a lubber who handled an 
oar 
In so lazy a fashion as old Father 
Time?" 

But Time only smiled in a cynical 
way, 
('T is often the mode with your 
elderly Don, ) 
As one who knows more than he 
cares to display. 
And still at his oar pulled stead- 
ily on. 

Grown calmer at last, the exuber- 
ant boy 
Enlivens the minutes with 
snatches of rhyme ; 
The voyage, at length, he begins 
to enjoy. 
And soon has forgotten the pres- 
ence of Time ! 

But Time, the severe, egotistical elf, 
Since the day that his travels he 
entered upon, 



114 



THE LAWYERS VALENTINE. 



Has ne'er for a moment forgotten 
himself, 
But tugs at his oar and keeps 
steadily on. 

Awaking once more, Love sees 
with a sigh 
That the River of Life will be 
presently passed, 
And now he breaks forth with a 
piteous cry, 
" Time, gentle Time! you are 
rowing too fast! " 

But Time, well knowing that Love 
will be dead. 
Dead, — dead ! in the boat ! — ere 
the voyage is done. 
Only gives him an ominous shake 
of the head. 
While he tugs at his oar and 
keeps steadily on ! 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. 

TO AN ABSENT WIFE. 

SINCE 't is decreed by the envi- 
ous Fates, 
All deaf to the clamoring heart, 
That the truest and fondest of con- 
jugal mates 
Shall often be sighing apart ; 

Since the Days of our absence are 
many and sad. 
And the' Hours of our meeting 
are few. 
Ah ! what in a case so exceedingly 
bad, 
Can the deepest philosophy do ? 

Pray what can we do, — unfortu- 
nate elves. 
Unconscious of folly or crime, — 



But make a new Calendar up for 
ourselves. 
For the better appraisal of time V 

And the Hours alone shall the Cal- 
endar fill, 
(While Blanks show their dis- 
tance apart, ) 
Just sufficiently near to keep off 
the chill 
That else might be freezing the 
heart ; 

And each Hour shall be such a 
glorious hour. 
Its moments so precious and 
dear, 
That in breadth, and in depth, and 
in bliss-giving power, 
It may fairly be reckoned a 
year! 



THE LAWYER'S VALENTINE. 

I 'm notified, fair neighbor mine, 
By one of our profession, 

That this — the Term of Valen- 
tine — 
Is Cupid's Special Session. 

Permit me, therefore, to report 
Myself, on this occasion, 

Quite ready to proceed to Court, 
And File my Declaration. 

I 've an Attachment for you, too; 

A legal and a strong one ; 
0, yield unto the Process, do; 

Nor let it be a long one ! 

No scowling bailiff lurks behind; 

He 'd be a precious noddy. 
Who, failing to Arrest the mind. 

Should go and Take the Body ! 



THE CHAPEL OF TWO SAINTS. 



115 



For though a form like yours might 
throw 

A sculptor in distraction ; 
I could n't serve a Capias, — no, 

I 'd scorn so base an Action ! 

0, do not tell me of your youth, 
And turn away demurely ; 

For though you 're very young, in 
truth, 
You 're not an Infant surely ! 

'fhe Case is everything to me; 

My heart is love's own tissue; 
Don't plead a Dilatory Plea; 

Let 's have the General Issue! 

Or, since you've really no De- 
fence, 

Why not, this present Session, 
Omitting all absurd pretence. 

Give judgment by Confession? 

So shall you be my lawful wife; 

And I — your faithful lover — 
Pe Tenant of your heart for Life, 

With no Remainder over! 



A REASONABLE PETITION. 

Yov say, dearest girl, you esteem 
me. 
And hint of respectful regard. 
And I 'm certain it would n't be- 
seem me 
Such an excellent gift to discard. 
But even the Graces, you '11 own, 
Would lose half their beauty 
apart ; 
And Esteem, Avhen she stands all 
alone, 
Looks most unbecomingly tart. 
Bo grant me, dear girl, this peti- 
tion : — 
If Esteem e'er again should come 
hither. 



Just to keep her in cheerful con- 
dition, 

Let Love come in company with 
her! 



THE CHAPEL OF TWO 

SAINTS. 

In a famous Tuscan city 

Stands a chapel snug and small; 
Some old penitent's oblation, 
With a double dedication, 

To St. Peter and St. Paul. 

To a soul so stoutly guarded 
What of evil could befall ? 
When was ever plan completer 
Without robbery of Peter, 
Paying thus his due to Paul ? 

There it was I saw a lady, 

Very round and ripe and tall; 
Surely never face was sweeter 
Than she turned upon St. Peter, 
After bowing to St. Paul. 

Long and ardently I worshipped, — 
Not the Saints, nor yet their 
Master, 
But my feminine ideal; 
Mea culpa ! she was real 
Flesh and blood, and they were 
plaster ! 

Good St. Anthony was tempted. 

Though a frigid old divine 
(Showing saints are only human), 
But he never saw a woman 
Half so beautiful as mine ! 

Pardon then my bad behavior, 
(Thus upon the twain 1 call,) 
As if you Avere in my case. 
And were asking special grace 
Of St. Peter and St. Paul! 



116 



DRINKING SONG. 



THE LITTLE MAID AND THE 
LAWYER. 



They say, little maid, quoth Law- 
yer Brown, 
I 'm the cleverest man in all the 
town. 
Heigh-ho! says she. 
What 's that to me? 
But they say, little maid, quoth 

Lawyer Brown, 
You 're the prettiest girl in all the 
town. 
Says she. If they do. 
What 's that to you V 



They say, little maid, quoth Law- 
yer Brown, 
I 'm the richest man in all the 
town. 
Heigh-ho ! says she, 
What 's that to me ? 
But they say, little maid, quoth 

Lawyer Brown, 
You ought to be dressed in a finer 
gown. 
Says she, If they do, 
What 's that to you? 



They say, little maid, quoth Law- 
yer Brown, 
That Johnny Hodge is an awkward 
clown. 
Heigh-ho ! says she, 
What 's that to me ? 
But they say, little maid, the law- 
yer said. 
That you and Johnny are going to 
wed. 
Says she, If we do, 
What 's that to you? 



DRINKING SONG. 

BY A TEETOTALER. 

*' Ex ipso fonte bibi." — Ovid. 

I 'VE been drinking, I 've been 
drinking. 

To intoxication's edge; 
Do not chide me ; for the tipple 

Was n't mentioned in the pledge. 

Nay, believe me, — 't was not 
Brandy 

Wrought the roses that you see; 
One may get a finer crimson 

From a purer eau-de^ie. 

No, indeed ; it was not Claret 
(That were something over- 
weak); 

There 's a vastly better vintage 
For the painting of a cheek. 

Not Angelica, — the honey 
By Loyola's children pressed 

From the Andalusian clusters 
Ripened in the Golden West; 

Not Madeira, Hock, nor Sherry; 

No, indeed, 't is none of these 
Makes me giddy in the forehead, 

Makes me tremble in the knees. 

No; 't is not the Gallic " Widow" 
That has turned my foolish 
brain, 

Nor the wine of any vineyard 
Found in Germany or Spain. 

Nay — I own it ! — 't is the nectar 
That a favored lover sips 

(All unheeding of the danger!) 
From a maiden's pulpy lips ! 

This it is that I 've been drinking 
To intoxication's edge; 



EGO ET ECHO. 



117 



Till I marvel that the tipple 
Is n't mentioned in the pledge! 

For the taste is so enchanting 

'T is impossible to see, 
Should it grow into a habit, 

What the consequence may be. 

Well, I '11 heed the sage's lesson, 
Pleasant, though it prove in 
vain, 

And by drinking very largely 
Try to sober me again ! 



EGO ET ECHO. 



A FANTASY. 



I ASKED of Echo, 't other day, 
(Whose words are few and often 
funny,) 
What to a novice she could say 
Of courtship, love, and matri- 
mony ? 
Quoth Echo, plainly: ^^ Mat- 
ter-ci' -money ! 



Whom should I marry ? should it 
be 
A dashing damsel, gay and 
pert, — 
A pattern of inconstancy ; 
Or selfish, mercenary flirt? 
Quoth Echo, sharply: '"'■Nary 
flirt r' 



What if, aweary of the strife 
That long has lured the dear 
deceiver. 



She promised to amend her life, 
And sin no more, can I believe 

her? 
Quoth Echo, very promptly: 

^^ Leave herj^^ 



But if some maiden with a heart, 
On me should venture to bestow 
it: 
Pray, should I act the wiser part 
To take the treasure, or forego 

it? 
Quoth Echo, with decision: " Go 
itr' 



Suppose a billet-doux (in rhyme), 
As warm as if Catullus penned it, 
Declare her beauty so sublime 
That Cytherea's can't transcend 

it, — 
Quoth Echo, very clearlv : " Send 
itr' 

VI. 

But what if, seemingly afraid 
To bind her fate 'in Hymen's 
fetter, 
She vow she means to die a 
maid, — 
In answer to my loving letter? 
Quoth Echo, rather coolly : " Let 
her ! " 

VII. 

What if, in spite of her disdain, 
I find my heart entwined about 

With Cupid's dear delicious chain, 
So closely that I can't get out? 
Quoth Echo, laughingly: " Get 
out!'' 



But if some maid with beauty 
blest. 
As pure and fair as Heaven can 
make her, 



118 



DAISY DAY. 



Will share my labor and my rest, 
Till envious Death shall overtake 

her? 
Quoth Echo {sotto voce) : ''^■Take 

her ! " 



THE MAIDEN TO THE M00N.4 

MOON ! did you see 
My lover and me 
In the valley beneath the sycamore- 
tree ? 
Whatever befell, 
Moon! don't tell; 
'T was nothing amiss, you know 
very well. 

Moon ! you know, 
A long time ago 
You left the sky and descended 
below. 
Of a Summer's night, 
By your own sweet light. 
To meet your Endymion on Lat- 
mo's height. 

And there, Moon ! 
You gave him a boon, 
You would n't, I 'm sure, have 
granted at noon ; 
'T was nothing amiss. 
Being only the bliss 
Of giving — and taking — an inno- 
cent kiss ! 

Some churlish lout. 
Who was spying about, 
Went off and blabbed, and so it 
got out ; 
But for all the gold 
The sea could hold, 
Moon! /wouldn't have gone 
and told J 



So, Moon! don't tell. 

Whatever befell 
My lover and me in the leafy dell; 

He is honest and true. 

And, remember, too. 
We only behaved like your lover 
and you ! 



DAISY DAY. 



A REMINISCENCE OF TEAVEL. 

It was in an Irish city, 

In the pleasant month of May^ 
That I met the clever, pretty, 

Lively, lovely Daisy Day. 
Like myself, a transient ranger 

From Columbia's troubled shor^ 
Could I deem her quite a stranger 

Though we never met before V 

Love of country — so despotic 

In our precious native land — 
Finds us doubly patriotic, 

Straying on a foreign strand; 
Hence, perhaps, her friendly maui 
ner, 

And my pulse's quicker play, 
When, beneath St. Patrick's ban- 
ner, 

I accosted Daisy Day. 

Bless me ! how all eyes were cen. 
tred 

On her, when the parlor door 
Opened, and the lady entered 

Like a queen upon the floor ! 
'T was as if, that summer even, 

Some superlative perfume, 
Wafted by the breath of Heaven, 

Suddenly had filled the room ! 

Happy favorite of Nature, 
Hebe in her sunny face. 



TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER. 



Juno in her queenly stature, 

More than Juno in her grace, 
Eyes befitting Beauty's goddess, 

"Mouth to steal your heart away, 
Bust that strained her ample bod- 
ice, — 
Such was charming Daisy Day. 

WeU, what then?. Ah! Holy 
Mother ! 

Pardon one pathetic sigh ; 
She 's the "partner" of another, 

And — I own it — so am I ! 
But a poet owes to Beauty 

More than common men can pay. 
And I 've done my simple duty, 

Singing thus of Daisy Day. 



A SUMMER SCENE. 

1 SAW you, lately, at an hour 
To lovers reckoned dear 

For tender trysts ; and this is what 
I chanced to see and hear: 

You sat beneath the Summer 
moon, 

A friend on either hand. 
And one applauded your discourse. 

And one — could understand. 

You quoted gems of poesy 
By mighty masters wrought ; 

And one remarked the pleasant 
rhyme. 
And one, the golden thought. 

Your smiles (how equally be- 
stowed ! ) 
Upon the list'ners fell ; 
And one was fain to praise your 
eyes, 
And one, to read them well 



You jested in a merry vein. 

And, conscious, played the 
child; 
And one was moved to brave re- 
tort, 
And one, in silence, smiled. 

You spoke of angel-life above 
That evermore endures ; 

And one looked up, with lifted 
hands. 
And one — was kissing yours ! 

And then you laughed the ringing 
laugh 

That shows a spirit glad ; 
And one, thereat, was very gay, 

And one was something sad. 

And did you guess (ah! need I 
ask?) 

While thus they sat with you, 
That one was but a light gallant, 

And one a lover true ? 



TO A BEAUTIFUL STRAN- 
GER. 

A GLANCE, a smile, — I see it 

yet! 
A moment ere the train was 

starting; 
How strange to tell! we scarcely 

met. 
And yet I felt a pang at parting. 

And you, (alas! that all the while 
'T IS /alone who am confessing!) 
What thought was lurking in your 
smile 
Is quite beyond my sitnple guess- 
ing. 



120 



HOW IT HAPPENED. 



I only know those beaming rays 

Awoke in me a strange emotion, 
Wliich, basking in their warmer 
blaze, 
Perhaps might kindle to devo- 
tion. 

Ah! many a heart as stanch as 
this, 
By smiling lips allured from 
Duty, 
Has sunk in Passion's dark 
abyss, — 
" Wrecked on the coral reefs of 
Beauty!" 

And so, 't is well the train's swift 
flight 
That bore away my charming 
stranger 
Took her— God bless her ! — out of 
sight. 
And me, as quickly, out of dan- 
ger! 



HERCULES SPINNING. 



Bond slave to Omphal6, 

The haughty Lydian queen, 
Fond slave to Omphal^, 
The beauteous Lydian queen, 
Lo ! Hercules is seen 
Spinning, spinning like a maid, 
While aside his club is laid. 
And the hero boasts no more 
All his doughty deeds of yore, 
But with sad, submissive mien 
Spinning, spinning still is seen, 
Bond slave to Ornphal^, 
Fond slave to Omphal6, 
The haughty Lydian queen. 



Shame ! that for a woman's whim, 
He, so stout of heart and limb, 
Must his nature so abuse 
Thus his mighty arm to use, — 
Not the manly mace to whirl, 
But a tiny spindle twirl. 
Spinning, spinning like a girl, 
With a soft, submissive mien. 
Bond slave to Omphal^, 
Fond slave to Omphal6, 
The haughty Lydian queen. 



Fond slave to Omphal6, — 

Bond slave no more ; 
Love has loosed whom Tyranny 

Basely bound before ! 
The distaff now is cast aside. 
And, leaning on his club in pride, 

Lo ! Hercules is seen 

In majesty serene, — 
A hero sitting by his bride. 

Fair Omphal^, his queen! 



Whatever mortals cravQ, 

So rule the gods above 
That manly Strength is Beauty's 
slave. 

And Beauty yields to Love. 



HOW IT HAPPENED. 

" Ah! we love each other well. 
Better far than words can tell," 
Said my charmer; " but in vain 
Are my efforts to explain 
How it happened. Tell me now, 
Dearest, of the why and how ! 
Since the fact we cannot doubt. 
Tell me how it came about." 



CARL AND I. 



121 



Well, my darling, I will try 
To explain the hoio and why, 
(Speaking for myself, not you; 
That, of course, I cannot do. ) 

Not your brilliant mind alone 
Could have thus enthralled ray 

own; 
Not the charm of every grace 
Beaming from your sunny face ; 
Not your voice, though music be 
Less melodious to me ; 
Not your kisses, sweeter far 
Than the drops of Hybla are ; 
None of these, from each apart, 
Could have so enchained my heart; 
Nay, not e'en the wondrous whole 
Could have fixed my wayward 

soul; 
Had not love your love pre- 
vailed. 
All the rest had surely failed. 

There! you have the reason, 
dear; 
Is the explanation clear ? 

Ah ! I own it seems but weak ; 
Half the lohy is yet to seek ; 
Only this I surely know. 
Never woman witched me so ! 

Happy let my charmer be, 
Since her eyes in mine may see 
Flashes of the hidden fire 
(Half devotion, half desire). 
And her ears may hear the sighs 
That from yearning love arise. 
Whispering, in the fondest tone, 
" Take me ! I am all your own ! " 



EXAUDI ANGELUS. 

Hear thou my prayer, angel 

kind ! 
Who brought my gladdened eyes 

to see 
Him whom so long I yearned to 

find, 



And gave his dear heart all to 

me; 
0, guard him well, that I may 

prove 
Blest in my lover and my love. 

And keep thou her whose fearful 
breast 
Still trembles for its new-found 

(Knowing, ah me! but little rest) 
Lest envious maids or gods de- 
stroy 

This wondrous happiness that 
seems 

Too bright for aught save angel 
dreams. 

0, bless us twain! and kindly 

teach ; 
And safely guard each hallowed 

name 
From blighting hint or blasting 

speech 
To make our cheeks all red for 

shame, 
That blush not for the love they 

bear 
In thy pure presence, angel fair. 

And while, with lips that closer 
cling 
In dread to part, we sav " Fare- 
well!" 

Keep thou this love a holy thing 
That in us evermore may dwell, 

By circling hearth or sundering 
sea. 

Where'er our thankful hearts may 
be! 



CARL AND I. 

He calls me beautiful ; and I 
Ask of my glass the reason whyj 
Alack for me ! 



122 



A PHILOSOPHICAL QUERY. 



And yet though little there I see, 
I must be beautiful, I trow. 
When such as he can deem me so. 

He calls me brilliant; all in vain 
I strive the wonder to explain ; 

Alack for me ! 
And yet, whate'er my fancy be, 
Some" spark of wit therein must 

glow 
When such as he can think it so. 

He calls me noble ; and I turn 
My soul within my soul to learn ; 

Alack for me ! 
I am not proud of what I see; 
And yet some goodness there must 

grow, 
When such as he can find it so. 

He calls me lovely; and I try 
To seek the specious reason why; 

Alack for me ! 
And yet though vain my question 

be, 
I must be lovely — well I know — 
When such as he can love me so ! 



DO I LOVE THEE ? 



Do I love thee ? Ask the bee 
If she loves the flowery lea 
Where the honeysuckle blows 
And the fragrant clover grows. 
As she answers, Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 

Do I love thee ? Ask the bird 
When her matin song is heard, 
If she loves the sky so fair. 
Fleecy cloud and liquid air. 
As she answers, Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 



Do I love thee ? Ask the flower 
If she loves the vernal shower. 
Or the kisses of the sun. 
Or the dew, when day is done. 
As she answers, Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 



THE LOVER'S CONFESSION. 

" Come, name my fault! " I said, 

"that I 
May mend it." So I made reply 
To Laura, darling of my heart. 
Whom long, in vain, by every art 
I tried to force to franker speech. 
" Do tell me plainly, I beseech. 
For my soul's sake, that while I 

live 
I may repent and Heaven forgive ! " 
'"T is worldliness ! '''' at last she 

said. 
And, blushing, drooped her lovely 

head. 
As if she feared I might infer 
She meant forgetfulness of her. 
"And is that aUV^ I answered. 

" Well, 
I own the world's enchanting 

spell; 
The fault is one I cannot hide ; 
But ah ! 't is not for you to chide; 
Still, dearest, let me worldly be. 
Since you are ' all the world ' to 



A PHILOSOPHICAL QUERY. 

TO . 

If Virtue be measured by what we 
resist. 
When against Inclination we 
strive. 



LIP-SERVICJL. 



123 



Yoxx and I have been proved, we 
may ftiirly insist, 

, The most virtuous mortals alive ! 

Now Virtue, we know, is the 
brightest of pearls, 
But as Pleasure is hard of eva- 
sion, 

Sliould we envy, or pity, the stoical 
churls 
Who never have known a temp- 
tation ? 



LIP-SERVICE. 

I. 

Julia once and once again. 
In coquettish fashion 



Heedless of her lover's pain, 
Mocked his burning passion : 

" Words of worship lightly fall 
From a courtier, surely ; 

Mere lip-seryice, — that is aU! " 
Said the maid, demurely. 



Then his kisses fell like dew 

(Just where Love would choose 
'em) 
On her mouth; and through and 
through 

Thrilled her glowing bosom ; 
Till she felt — nor uttered she 

Whisper of negation — 
" Mere lip-service " still may be 

Perfect adoration 1 



FAIET TALES LEGENDS, AND 
APOLOGUES. 



FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND APOLOGUES. 



FATHPK PUMPKIN; OR, AL- 
WAYS IN LUCK. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 



In Cairo once there dwelt a worthy 
man, 
Toilsome and frugal, but ex- 
tremely poor; 

"Howe'er," he grumbled, "I 
may toil and plan. 
The wolf is ever howling at my 
door, 

While arrant rascals thrive and 
prosper; hence 

t much misdoubt the ways of 
Providence. 



'' Allah is Allah ; and, we all agree, 
Mohammed is his Prophet. Be 

it so; 
But what 's Mohammed ever done 

for me, 
To boil my kettle, I should like 

to know ? 
The thieves fare better ; and I 

much incline 
From this day forth to make their 

calling mine." 

III. 

" Dog of an Arab ! " cried his pi- 
ous spouse, 
"So you would steal to better 
your estate, 



And hasten Allah's vengeance! 

Shame! arouse! 
Why sit you there repining at 
your fate ? 
Pray to the Prophet, — sinner that 

you are, — 
Then wash your face and go to the 
Bazaar. 



" Take with you pen and paper 

and a book, 
And, sitting in a comer, gravely 

make 
Some mystic scrawls; put on a 

solemn look. 
As if you were a wise and 

learned sheik ; 
And, mark my word, the people 

in a trice 
Will come in throngs to purchase 

your advice." 



"'T is worth a trial, woman, I 

confess ; 
Things can't be worse," the 

moody Arab said ; 
" But then, alas ! I have no proper 

dress. 
Not e'en a turban to adorn my 

head." 
"Allah be praised!" Just here 

the woman spied 
A hollow pumpkin lying at her 

side. 



128 FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 



VI. 

'• See! this will do! " and, cutting 

it in twain, 
She placed the half upon her 

husband's pate; 
" 'T is quaint and grave, and well 

befits thy brain, 
Most reverend master," cried 

the dame, elate. 
"Now to thy labor hasten thee 

away. 
And thou shalt prosper from this 

very day! " 

VII. 

And so, obedient to his wife's com- 
mand, 
The anxious sheik procured a 
little nook 

In the Bazaar, where, sitting by a 
stand. 
With much grimace he pored 
upon his book. 

Peering around, at intervals, to spy 

A customer, if such a thing were 
nigh. 

VIII. 

And soon, indeed, a customer ap- 
peared, 
A peasant pale and sweating 
with distress. 

"Good Father Pumpkin I may 
your mighty beard " 
(Bowing in reverence) " be nev- 
er less ! 

I come to crave your counsel; for, 
alas! 

Most learned Father, I have lost 
my ass." 

IX. 

"Now, curse the donkey! " cried 
the puzzled man. 
Unto himself, " and curse Fati- 
ma too. 



Who sent me here! for, do the 

best I can. 
And that 's the best that any 

one can do, 
I 'm sure to blunder." So, in 

sheer despair. 
Renamed the graveyard; "Seek 

your donkey there! " 



It chanced the ass that very mo- 
ment grazed 
Within the graveyard, as the 
sheik had told ; 

And so the peasant, joyful and 
amazed. 
Gave thanks and money; nor 
could he withhold 

His pious prayers, but, bowing to 
the ground, 

Cried, " Great is Allah! — for my 
ass is found! " 



" Allah is Allah! " said the grate- 
ful sheik, 
Returning homeward with his 
precious fee ; 

" I much rejoice for dear Fatima's 
sake; 
Few men, in sooth, have such a 
mate as she; 

Most wives are bosh, or worse than 
bosh, but mine 

In wit and beauty is almost di- 
vine! " 



Next day he hastened early to his 
post, 
But found some clients had ar- 
rived before ; 
Que eager dame a skein of silk 
had lost; 
Another money; and a dozen 
more, 



FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 129 



Of either sex, were waiting to re- 
cover 
A fickle mistress or a truant lover. 



With solemn face the sheik replied 

to each 
Whate'er his whim might move 

his tongue to say ; 
And all turned out according to 

his speech; 
And so it chanced for many a 

lucky day, 
Till "Father Pumpkin" grew a 

famous seer. 
Whose praise had even reached the 

Sultan's ear. 



'• Allah is Allah ! " cried the hap- 
py sheik ; 
" And nevermore, Fatiraa, will 
I doubt 

Mohammed is his prophet; let us 
take 
Our ease henceforward — " 
Here a sudden shout 

Announced the Sultan's janizaries, 
sent. 

They said, to seize him, — but 
with kind intent. 



"• The Grand Seraglio has been 

robbed by knaves 
Of all the royal jewels; and the 

Porte, 
To get them back again, your 

presence craves 
In Stamboul; he will pay you 

richly for 't, 
[f you succeed ; if not, — why 

then, instead 
Of getting money, you will lose 

your head." 



XVI. 

" My curse upon thee ! " cried the 

angry man 
Unto Fatima; "see what thou 

hast done ! 
woman, woman! since the 

world began 
All direst mischiefs underneath 

the sun 
Are woman's doing — " Here the 

Sultan's throng 
Of janizaries bade him, " Come 

along! " 

XVII. 

The seer's arrival being now pro- 
claimed 
Throughout the capital, the rob- 
bers quake 

With very fear; while, trembling 
and ashamed, 
In deeper terror sits the wretched 
sheik. 

Cursing Fatima for a wicked wife 

Whose rash ambition has betrayed 
his hfe. 



" But seven short days my sands 
have yet to run. 
And then, alas ! I lose my fool- 
ish head ; 

These seven white beans I '11 swal- 
low, one by one, 
To mark each passing day ere I 
am dead. 

Alas I alas ! the Sultan's hard de- 
cree! 

The sun is setting : there goes one ! " 
said he. 



Just then a thief (the leader of the 
band 
That stole the Sultan's jewels) 
passing by, 



130 FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 



Heard the remark, and saw the 
lifted hand, 
And ran away as fast as he could 

fly, 

To tell his comrades that, beyond 

a doubt, 
The cunning seer had fairly found 

him out. 

XX. 

Next day another, ere the hour was 
dark, 
Passed by the casement where 
the siieik was seen ; 

His hand was lifted warningly, and 
hark ! 
*' There goes a second .'" (swal- 
lowing the bean.) 

The robber fled, amazed, and told 
the crew 

'T was time to counsel what were 
best to do. 



XXI. 

But still, — as if the faintest doubt 
to cure, — 
The following eve the robbers 
sent a third ; 
And so till six had made the matter 
sure, 
(For unto each the same event 
occurred), 
When, taking counsel, they at once 

» agreed 
To seek the wizard and confess the 
deed. 

XXII. 

" Most reverend Father," thus the 
chief began, 
" Thy thoughts are just; thy 
spoken words are true; 
To hide from thee surpasses mor- 
tal man ; 
Our evil works henceforward we 
eschew, 



For now we know that sinning 

never thrives ; 
Here, take the jewels, but 0, spare 

our lives! " 



"The law enjoins," the joyful 

sheik replied, 
" That bloody Death shall end 

the robber's days ; 
But, that your sudden virtue may 

be tried, 
Swear on the Koran you will 

mend your ways, 
And then depart. " The robbers 

roundly swore, 
In Allah's name, that they would 

rob no more. 



XXIV. 

"Allah is Allah ! " cried the grate- 
ful sheik. 
Holding the jewels in the vizier's 
face. 

The vizier answered, " Sir, be 
pleased to take 
The casket to the Sultan. * ' No, 
vour Grace," 

The sheik replied, "the gems are 
here, you see; 

Pray tell the Sultan he may come 
to me! " 

XXV. 

The Sultan came, and, ravished to 

behold 
The precious jewels to his hand 

restored. 
He made the finder rich in thanks 

and gold. 
And on the instant pledged his 

royal word, 
And straight confirmed it in the 

Prophet's name. 
To grant whatever he might choose 

to claim. 



THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. 



131 



" Sire of the Faithful ! publish a 

decree " 
(The sheik made answer; "and 

proclaim to all 
That none henceforth shall ever 

question me 
Of any matter either great or 

small ; 
I ask no more. So shall my labors 

cease; 
My waning life I fain would spend 

in peace." 

XXVII. 

The Sultan answered: " Be it even 

so; 
And may your beard increase a 

thousand-fold ; 
And may your house with children 

overflow! " 
And so the sheik, o'erwhelmed 

with praise and gold, 
Returned unto the city whence he 

came, 
Blessing Mohammed's and Fati- 

ma's name ! 



THE KING AND THE COT- 
TAGER. 

A PERSIAN LEGEND. 



Pray list unto a legend 
The ancient poets tell ; 

'T is of a mighty monarch 
In Persia once did dwell; 

A mighty queer old monarch 
Who ruled his kingdom well. 



I must build another palace," 
Observed this mighty King; 



"For this is getting shabby 
Along the southern wing; 

And, really, for a monarch, 
It is n't quite the thing. 



" So I will have a new one, 

Although I greatly fear, 
To build it just to suit me. 

Will cost me rather dear; 
And I '11 choose, God wot, another 
spot. 

Much finer than this here." 



So he travelled o'er his kingdom 

A proper site to find, 
Where he might build a palace 

Exactly to his mind, 
All with a pleasant prospect 

Before it, and behind. 



Not long with this endeavor 
The king had travelled round, 

Ere, to his royal pleasure, 
A charming spot he found ; 

But an ancient widow's cabin 
Was standing on the gi-ound. 



"Ah! here," exclaimed the mon- 
arch, 

" Is just the proper spot, 
If this woman would allow me 

To remove her little cot." 
But the beldam answered plainly. 

She had rather he would not !' 



" Within this lonely cottage. 
Great Monarch, I was born; 

And only from this cottage 
By Death will I be torn : 

So spare it in your ustice, 
Or spoil it in your scorn ! " 



132 



THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. 



VIII. 

Then all the courtiers mocked her, 
With cruel words and jeers: — 

*"T is plain her royal master 
She neither loves nor fears ; 

We would knock her ugly hovel 
About her ugly ears ! 

IX. 

" When ever was a subject 

Who might the King withstand ? 

Or deem his spoken pleasure 
As less than his command ? 

Of course he '11 rout the beldam, 
And confiscate her land ! " 



But, to their deep amazement, 

His Majesty replied: 
" Good woman, never heed them, 

The King is on your side ; 
Your cottage is your castle, 

And here you shall abide. 



" To raze it in a moment. 
The power is mine, I grant; 

My absolute dominion 
A hundred poets chant ; 

For being Khan of Persia, 

There 's nothing that I can't ! " 



('T was in this pleasant fashion 
The mighty monarch spoke ; 

For kings have merry fancies 
Like other mortal folk : 

And none so high and mighty 
But loves his little joke.) 



" But power is scarcely worthy 

Of honor or applause, 
That in its domination 

Contemns the widow's cause, 



Or perpetrates injustice 
By trampling on the laws. 



" That I have wronged the mean- 
est 
No honest tongue may say : 
So bide you in your cottage, 

Good woman, while you may ; 
What 's yours by deed and pur- 
chase 
No man may take away. 



*' And I will build beside it, 
For though your cot may I 

In such a lordly presence 
No fitting thing to see. 

If it honor not my castle, 
It will surely honor me ! 



*' For so my loyal people. 
Who gaze upon the sight. 

Shall know that in oppression 
I do not take delight ; 

Nor hold a king's convenience 
Before a subject's right."* 



Now from his spoken purpose 
The King departed not; 

He built the royal dwelling 
Upon the chosen spot. 

And there they stood together^ 
The palace and the cot. 



Sure such unseemly neighbors 
Were never seen before ; 

"His Majesty is doting," 
His silly courtiers swore ; 

But all true loyal subjects, 
They loved the King the more. 



THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. 



133 



Long, long he ruled his kingdom 

Li honor and renown ; 
But danger ever threatens 

The head that wears a crown, 
And Fortune, tired of smiling. 

For once put on a frown. 



For ever secret Envy- 
Attends a high estate ; 

And ever hirking Malice 
Pursues the good and great ; 

And ever base Ambition 
Will end in deadly Hate. 



And so two wicked courtiers, 
Who long had strove in vain, 

By craft and evil counsels, 
To mar the monarch's reign. 

Contrived a scheme infernal 
Whereby he should be slain. 



But as all deeds of darkness 
Are wont to leave a clew 

Before the glaring sunlight 
To bring the knaves to view. 

That sin may be i-ewarded. 
And Satan get his due, — 



To plan their wicked treason. 
They sought a lonely spot 

Behind the royal palace, 
Hard by the widow's cot. 

Who heard their machinations. 
And straight revealed the plot! 



I see," exclaimed the Persian, 
" The just are wise alone; 



Who spares the rights of others 
May chance to guard his own; 

The widow's humble cottage 
Has propped a monarch's 
throne 1 '" 



THE 



YOUTH AND 
NORTHWIND. 



A TALE OF NORWAY. 



THE 



Okce on a time — 't was long 
ago — 
There lived a worthy dame 
Who sent her son to fetch some 
flour. 
For she was old and lame. 

But while he loitered on the road. 
The Northwind chanced to stray 

Across the careless younker's path, 
And stole the flour away. 

"Alas! what shall we do for 
bread? " 
Exclaimed the weeping lad; 
" The flour is gone, — the floiir is 
gone, — 
And it was all we had ! " 

And so he sought the Northwind' s 
cave. 
Beside the distant main ; 
" Good Mister Boreas," said the 
lad, 
" I want my flour again." 

"'T was all we had to live 
upon, — 

My mother old and I ; 
give us back the flour again, 

Or we shall surely die ! " 



134 



THE YOUTH AND THE NORTH WIND. 



"I have it not," the North wind 
growled ; 

*' But, for your lack of bread, 
I give to you this table-cloth ; 

'T will" serve you well instead; 

* ' For you have but to spread it 
out, 
And every costly dish 
Will straight appear at you.r com- 
mand, 
Whatever you may wish." 

The lad received the magic cloth 
With wonder and delight. 

And thanked the donor heartily. 
As well, indeed, he might. 

Returning homeward, at an inn 
Just half his journey through. 

He fain must show his table-cloth. 
And what the cloth could do. 

So while he slept the knavish 
host 
Went slyly to his bed. 
And stole the cloth, — but shrewd- 
ly placed 
Another in its stead. 

Unknowing what the rogue had 
done. 

The lad went on his way. 
And came ijnto his journey's end 

Just at the close of day. 

He showed the dame his table- 
cloth, 
And told her of its power; 
"Good sooth!" he cried, "'twas 
well for us 
The Northwind stole the flour." 

"Perhaps," exclaimed the cau- 
tious crone, 

" The story may be true; 
'T is mighty little good, I ween. 

Your tabie-cloth can do." 



And now the younker spread it 
forth. 

And tried the spell. Alas ! 
'T was but a common table-cloth, 

And nothing came to pass.. 

Then to the Northwind, far away, 
He sped with might and main ; 

" Your table-cloth is good for 
naught ; 
I want my flour again! " 

" I have it not," the Northwind 
growled, 

" But, for your lack of bread, 
I give to you this little goat, 

'T will serve you well instead. 

" For you have but to tell him 
this : — 

' Make money, Master Bill ! ' 
And he will give you golden coins, 

As many as you will." 

The lad received the magic goat 
With wonder and delight. 

And thanked the donor heartily, 
As well, indeed, he might. 

Returning homeward, at the inn 
Just half his journey through, 

He fain must show his little goat, 
And what the goat could do. 

So while he slept the knavish host 

Went slyly to the shed. 
And stole the goat, — but shrewdly 
placed 

Another in his stead. 

Unknowing what the rogue had 
done. 
The youth went on his way. 
And reached his weary jou'rney'a 
end 
Just at the close of day. 



THE BLIND MAN AND THE ELEPHANT. 



135 



He showed the dame his magic 
goat, 
And told her of his power; 
" Good sooth ! " he cried, " 't was 
well for us 
The Northwind stole the flour." 

"I much misdoubt," the dame 
replied, 

" Your wondrous tale is true; 
'T is little good, for hungry folk, 

Your silly goat can do! " 

''Good Master Bill," the lad ex- 
claimed, 

"Make money! " but, alas! 
'T was nothing but a common goat, 

And nothing came to pass. 

Then to the Northwind, angrily. 
He sped with might and main ; 

*' Your foolish goat is good for 
naught ; 
I want my flour again ! " 

*'I have it not," the Northwind 
growled, 
"Nor can I give you aught. 
Except this cudgel, — which, in- 
deed, 
A magic charm has got ; 

" For you have but to tell it this: 
' My cudgel, hit away ! ' 

And, till you bid it stop again, 
The cudgel will obey." 

Returning home, he stopt at night 
Where he had lodged before; 

And feigning to be fast asleep, 
He soon began to snore. 

And when the host would steal the 
staff", , 

The sleeper muttered, " Stay, 
I ?ee what you would ftiin be at; 

Good cudgel, hit away ! '* 



The cudgel thumped about his 
ears. 

Till he began to cry, 
' stop the staff", for mercy's sake! 

Or 1 shall surely die ! " 

But still the cudgel thumped away 

Until the rascal said, 
"I 'II give you back the cloth and 
goat,"" 

spare my broken head! " 

And so it w^as the lad reclaimed 
His table-cloth and goat ; 

And, growing rich, at length be- 
came 
A man of famous note ; 

He kept his mother tenderly, 
And cheered her waning life ; 

And married — as you may sup- 
pose — 
A princess for a wife ; 

And while he lived had ever near, 

To favor worthy ends, 
A cudgel for his enemies. 

And money for his friends. 



THE BLIND MEN AND THE 
ELEPHANT. 

A HINDOO FABLE. 



It was six men of Indostan 
To learning much inclined, 

Who went to see the Elephant 
(Though all of them were blind), 

That each by observation 
Might satisfy his mind. 



The First approached the Ele- 
phant, 
And happening to fall 



136 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



Against his broad and sturdy side, 

At once began to bawl : 
"God bless me! but the Ele- 
phant 

Is very like a wall! " 



The Second^ feeling of the tusk, 
Cried, "Ho! what have we 
here 
So very round and smooth and 
sharp ? 
To me 't is mighty clear 
This wonder of an Elephant 
Is very like a spear! " 



The Third approached the animal. 

And happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his 
hands, 

Thus boldly up and spake : 
" I see," quoth he, " the Elephant 

Is very like a snake ! " 

V. 

The Fourth reached out his eager 
hand. 
And felt about the knee. 
" What most this wondrous beast 
is like 
Is mighty plain," quoth he; 
" 'T is clear enough the Elephant 
Is very like a tree ! " 



The Fifth, who chanced to touch 
the ear, 

Said : " E'en the blindest man 
Can tell what this resembles most ; 

Deny the fact who can, 
This marvel of an Elephant 

Is very like a fan! " 



The Sixth no sooner had begun 
About the beast to grope, 

Than, seizing on the swinging tail 
That fell within his scope, 

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant 
Is very like a rope ! " 



And so these men of Indostan 
Disputed loud and long, 

Each in his own opinion 
Exceeding stiff and strong, 

Though each was partly in the 
right, 
And all were in the wrong ! 



So oft in theologic wars, 
The disputants, I ween, 

Eail on in utter ignorance 
Of what each other mean, 

And prate about an Elephant 
Not one of them has seen ! 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 

A LEGEND OF ITALY. 
I. 

A BEAUTIFUL story, my darlings. 
Though exceedingly quaint an^ 
old. 

Is a tale I have read in Italian, 
Entitled, The Treasure of Gold. 



There lived near the town of Bo. 
logna 
A widow of virtuous fame, 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



137 



Alone with her only daughter, 
Madonna Lucrezia by name. 



A lady whom changing fortune 

Had numbered among the poor; 
And she kept an inn by the way- 
side, 
For the use of peasant and 
boor. 



One day at the door of the tavern 
Three roving banditti appeared. 

And one was a wily Venetian, 
To guess by his curious beard. 



And he spoke to the waiting host- 
ess 
In phrases exceedingly fine, 
And sat himself down with his 
fellows, 
And called for a flagon of wine. 

VI. 

At length, after deeply discoursing 
In voices suspiciously low. 

The travellers rose from the table, 
And made preparation to go. 



"Madonna," up spoke the Ve- 
netian, 
"Prav do us the kindness to 
hold 
Awhile, for our better convenience. 
This snug little treasure of gold." 

vm. 

"Indeed," said the smiling Lucre- 
zia, 
" You 're welcome to leave it, 
— but stay ; 



I have never a lock in my hovel, 
And the bag may be stolen away. 



"Besides," said the woman, "con- 
sider. 
There 's no one the fact to attest; 
In pledge for so precious a treasure 
You have only m}^ word, at the 
best." 



"In faith ! " said the civil Vene^ 
tian, 
" We have n't a morsel of fear; 
But to guard against awkward 
mischances. 
Let the matter in writing ap- 
pear. " 

XI. 

And this was a part of the writing 
She gave the banditti to hold: 

" Not to one, nor to two, but to all 
Will I render the treasure of 
gold." 

XII. 

Now the robbers were scarcely de- 
parted 
When the cunning Venetian 
came back. 
With, "Madam, allow me the 
favor 
Of putting my seal to the sack." 



But the moment she gave him the 
treasure, 
A horseman rode up, and behold ! 
While the woman went out to at- 
tend him. 
The villain ran off with the gold,' 



138 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



"Alas!" cried the widow, in an- 
guish, 

" Alas for my daughter forlorn; 
I would we had perished together, 

The day Giannetta was born ! " 



In sooth, she had reason for sorrow, 

Although it were idle to weep ; 
She was sued in the court of Bo- 
logna 
For the money she promised to 
keep. 



"Now go, Giannetta," she faltered, 
"To one that is versed in the 
laws; 

But stop at the shrine of the Virgin, 
And beg her to favor our cause." 



Alas for Madonna Lucrezia ! 

In vain Giannetta applied 
To each lawyer of note in the city ; 

They were all on the opposite 
side! 



At last, as the sorrowing maiden 
Sat pondering her misery over, 
And breathing a prayer to the Vir- 
gin, 
She thought of Lorenzo, her 
lover; 

XIX. 

A student well read in the statutes, 
According to common report. 

But one who, from modest aver- 
sion, 
Had never appeared in the court. 



"I '11 try! " said the faithful Lo- 
renzo, 
After hearing her narrative 
through, 
" And for strength in the hour of 
trial, 
I '11 think, Giannetta, of you! " 

XXI. 

Next morning the judges assem- 
bled; 
The claimants' attorneys were 
heard, 
And gave a most plausible version 
Of how the transaction occurred ; 



Then showed, by the widow's con- 
fession, 
She had taken the money to 
hold. 
And proved that, though often 
requested, 
She failed to surrender the gold. 

XXIII. 

The judges seemed fairly impatient 

To utter the fatal decree. 
When, lo ! the young student Lo- 
renzo 
Stands up, and commences a 
plea: — 



"Your Honors! I speak for the 
widow; 
Some words have been (care- 
lessly) said 
Concerning a written agreement ; 
I ask that the writing be read." 



" Of course," said the Court, "it 
is proper 
The writing appear in the case; 



THE NOBLEMAN, FISHERMAN, AND PORTER. 139 



The sense of a written agreement 
May give it a different face." 



*' Observe," said the student, " the 
bargain 
To which we are willing to 
hold, — 
' Not to one, nor to two, hut to all, 
Will I render the treasure of 
gold. ' 



" We stand by the writing, your 
Honors, 
And candidly ask of you whether 
These fellows can sue for their 
money 
Till they come and demand it 
together? " 



And so it was presently settled. 
For so did the judges decide; 
And great was the joy of the wid- 
ow, 
And great was her daughter's 
pride. 



And fast grew the fame of Lorenzo, 
For making so clever a plea, 

Till never in all Bologna 
Was lawyer so wealthy as he. 



And he married his own Giannetta, 
As the story is pleasingly told; 
And such were the bane and the 
blessing 
That came of the Treasure of 
Gold! 



THE NOBLEMAN, THE FISH- 
ERMAN, AND THE PORTER. 

AN ITALIAN LEGEND. 



It was a famous nobleman 
Who flourished in the East, 

And once, upon a holiday, 
He made a goodly feast, 

And summoned in of kith and kin 
A hundred at the least. 



Now while they sat in social chat 
Discoursing frank and free, 

In came the steward, with a bow, 
"A man below," said he, 

" Has got, my lord, the finest fish 
That ever swam the sea! " 

III. 

"Indeed!" exclaimed the noble- 
man, 

" Then buy it in a trice; 
The finest fish that ever swam 

Must needs be very nice ; 
Go, buy it of the fisherman. 

And never mind the price." 

IV. 

" And so I would," the steward 
said, 
" But, faith, he would n't hear 
A word of money for his fish, 
(Was ever man so queer?) 
But said he thought a hundred 
stripes 
Could not be counted dear! " 



Go bring him here," my lord 

replied; 
" The man I fain would see; 



140 THE NOBLEMAN, FISHERMAN, AND PORTER. 



A merry wag^ by your report, 
This fisherman must be." 

" Go bring him here ! Go bring 
him here ! ' ' 
Cried all the company. 



The steward did as he was bid, 

When thus my lord began : 
" For this fine fish what may you 
wish V 
I '11 buy it, if I can." 
" One hundred lashes on my 
back!" 
Exclaimed the fisherman. 



"Now, by the Eood! but this is 
good," 

The laughing lord replied; 
" Well, let the fellow have his way ; 

Go, call a groom ! " he cried ; 
" But let the payment he demands 

Be modestly applied." 



He bared his back and took the 
lash 

As it were merry play ; 
But at the fiftieth stroke, he said, 

" Good master groom, I pray 
Desist a moment, if you please ; 

I have a word to say. 



" I have a partner in the case, — 
The fellow standing there ; 

Pray take the jacket off" his back. 
And let him have his share; 

That one of us should take the 
whole 
Were surely hardly fair! " 



"A partner?" cried the noble- 
man, 
" Who can the fellow mean? " 
" I mean," replied the fisherman, 

With countenance serene, 
*' Your porter there! the biggest 
knave 
That ever yet was seen. 



" The rogue who stopped me at 
the gate. 
And would n't let me in 
Until I swore to give him half 

Of all my fish should win. 
Pve got my share! Pray let, my 
lord. 
His payment now begin! " 



" What you propose," my lord 
replied, 
" Is nothing more than fair; 
Here, groom, — lay on a hundred 
stripes. 
And mind you do not spare. 
The scurvy dog shall never say 
He did n't get his share! " 



Then all that goodly company 
They laughed with might and 
main. 
The while beneath the stinging lash 

The porter writhed in pain. 
" So fare all villains," quoth my 
lord, 
"Who seek dishonest gain! " 



Then, turning to the fisherman. 
Who still was standing near, 



THE DERVIS AND THE KING. 

golden 



141 



He filled his hand with 
coins, 

Some twenty sequins clear, 
And bade him come and take the 
like 
On each succeeding year. 



THE DEEVIS AND THE KING. 

A TURKISH TALE. 

A PIOUS Dervis, once upon a time. 
Of all his sect the wisest and the 
best. 
Journeyed, on foot, through many 
a foreign clime. 
To serve his Master in some holy 
quest- 

And so it chanced that on a certain 
day, 
While plodding wearily along 
the road, 
He saw before him, near the pub- 
lic way, 
The house wherein the Tartar 
King abode. 

Musing the while on some absorb- 
ing thought 
That quite engrossed the pious 
pilgrim's mind, 
The palace seemed — just what 
the Dervis sought — 
A caravansary of the better 
kind. 

Entering the palace by an open 
door, 
Straight to the gallery the Dervis 
goes. 
Lays down his meagre wallet on 
the floor. 
And spreads his blanket for a 
night's repose. 



It chanced the King, soon after, 
passing by, 
Observed the man, and with an 
angry air. 
As one who sees a robber or a spy, 
Bade him avow what business 
brought him thei-e. 

" My business here," the Dervis 

meekly said, 
"Is but to rest, as any traveller 

might; 
In this good tavern I have made 

my bed, 
And here I mean to tarry for the 

night." 

" A caravansary — eh V " the King 
exclaimed 
(His visage mantling with a royal 
grin), 
" Now look around you, man, and 
be ashamed ! 
How could you take my palace 
for an inn? " 

" Sire," said the Dervis (seeing 
his mistake), 
" I purpose presently to answer 
this; 
But grant me, first, the liberty to 
make 
Some brief inquiries, if 't is not 
amiss. 

" Pray tell me, Sire, who first re- 
sided here? " 
"My ancestors, — as the tradi- 
tion goes." 
"Who next?" " My father,— 
that is very clear. " 
"Who next?" "Myself, — as 
everybody knows." 

"And who — Heaven grant you 
many years to reign ! — 
Will occupy the house when you 
have done ? " 



142 



THE MONARCH A.VD THE MARQUIS. 



"Why," said the monarch, "that 
is very plain, — 
Of course "'t will be the Prince, 
my only son ! ' ' 

" Sire," said the Dervis, gravely, 
" I protest, — 
Whate'er the building you may 
choose to call, — 
A house that knows so many a 
transient guest, 
Is but a caravansary, after 
all!" 



THE MONAKCH AND THE 
MARQUIS. 

AN ORIENTAL LEGEND. 



It was a merry monarch 
Who ruled a distant land, 

And ever, for his pastime. 
Some new device he planned, 

And once, to all his servants. 
He gave this queer command. 



Quoth he: " To every stranger 
Who comes unto my court 

Let a fried fish be given, 
And of the finest sort; 

Then mark the man's behavior. 
And bring me due report. 



" If, when the man has eaten 
The fish unto the bone. 

The glutton turns it over, — 
Then, by my royal throne. 

For this, his niisdemeanor, 
The gallows shall atone! " 



Now when this regal mandate, 

According to report. 
Had slain a score of strangers, 

To serve the monarch's sport, 
It chanced a gay young Marquis 

Came to the roval court. 



His Majesty received him 
As suited with his state, 

But when he sat at dinner. 
The fish was on the plate ; 

Alas ! he turns it over, 
Unconscious of his fate. 

VI. 

Then, to his dii'e amazement, 
Three guardsmen, standing nigh. 

Conveyed him straight to prison, 
And plainly told him why, — 

And how, in retribution. 
That he was doomed to die ! 



The Marquis , filled with sorrow, 
Implored the monarch's ruth, 

Whereat the King relented 
(A gracious deed, in sooth!) 

And granted these conditions, 
In pity of his youth : — 



That for three days the culprit 
Should have the King's reprieve; 

Also, to name three wishes 
The prisoner had leave, — 

One each succeeding morning, — 
The which he should receive. 



" Thanks! " said the grateful Mar 
quis, 
" His Majesty is kind ; 



THE MONARCH AND THE 3£AEQUIS. 



143 



And, first, to wed his daughter 
Is what I have in mind; 

Go, bid him fetch a parson 
The holy tie to bind." 



Now when the merry monarch 
This bold demand" had heard, 

With grief and indignation 
His royal breast was stirred ; 

But he had pledged his honor, 
And so he kept his word. 



Now, if the first petition 
He reckoned rather bold, 

What was the King's amazement 
To hear the second told, — 

To wit, the monarch's treasure 
Of silver and of gold ! 



To beg the culprit's mercy 
This mighty King was fain ; 

But pleading and remonstrance 
Wpre uttered all in vain ; 

And so he gave the treasure 
It cost him years to gain. 



Sure ne'er was mortal monarch 
In such dismay as he ! 

He woke next morning early 
And went himself to see 

What, in the name of wonder. 
The third demand would be. 



*' I ask," replied the Marquis, 
" (My third and final wish). 

That you should call the servants 
Who served the fatal dish, 

And have the eyes extinguished 
That saw me turn the fish." 



*' Good ! " said the monarch gayly, 

With obvious delight, 
" What you demand, Sir Marquis, 

Is reasonable, quite ; 
That they should pay this forfeit 

Is nothing more than right. 



"How was it, — Mr. Chamber- 
lain?" 

But he at once denied 
That he had seen the culprit 

Turn up the other side; 
" It must have been the Steward," 

The Chamberlain replied. 

XVII. 

' ' Indeed ! exclaimed the Steward, 

" It surely was n't I ! 
It must have been the Butler " — 

Who quickly made reply, 
"It must have been the guards- 
men, 

Unless the fellows lie! " 

XVIII. 

But they, in turn, protested, 
With plausible surprise, 

(And dreadful imprecations, 
If they were telling lies ! ) 

That nothing of the matter 
Had come before their eyes. 

XIX. 

" Good father," said the Prin- 
cess, 

" I pray you ponder this," 
(And here she gave the monarch 

A reverential kiss, ) 
" My husband must be guiltless, 

If none saw aught amiss ! " 



The monarch frowned a little, 
And gravely shook his head : 



144 



THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 



Your Marquis should be pun- 
ished ; 

Well, — let him live," he said, 

For though he cheats the gal- 
lows, 

The man, at least, is wed! " 



THE CALIPH AND THE 
CRIPPLE. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 

The Caliph, Ben Akas, whose sur- 
name was " Wise," 
From the wisdom and wit he 
displayed, 
One morning rode forth in a mer- 
chant's disguise 
To see how his laws were obeyed. 

While riding along, in a leisurely 
way, 
A beggar came up to his side. 
And said, " In the name of the 
Prophet, I pray 
You '11 give a poor cripple a 
ride." 



Ben Akas, amazed at the mendi- 
cant's prayer, 
Asked where he was wishing to 
go. 
"I'm going," he said, "to the 
neighboring fair ; 
But my crutches are wretchedly 
slow." 

"Get up!" said the Caliph; "a 
saddle like this 
Is hardly sufficient for two ; 
And yet, by the Prophet ! — 
't were greatly amiss 
To snub a poor cripple like 
you." 



The beggar got up, and together 
they rode 
Till they came to the neighbor- 
ing town. 
When, hard by the house where 
the Cadi abode, 
He bade his companion get 
down. 

"Nay, get down yourself!'''' was 
the fellow's reply. 
Without the least shame or re- 
morse. 
" Indeed ! " said the Caliph, " and 
pray tell me why? " 
Quoth the beggar, " To give me 
the horse! 

" You know very well that the nag 

is my own ; 

And if you resort to the laws. 

You do not imagine your story 

alone 

Sufficient to carry the cause ? 

" The Cadi is reckoned the wisest 
of men, 
And, looking at you and at me. 
After hearing us both, 't is a hun- 
dred to ten 
The cripple will get the decree." 

" Very well ! " said Ben Akas, as- 
tonished to hear 
The impudent fellow's dis- 
course, 
" If the Cadi is wise, there is 
little to fear 
But I soon shall recover my 
horse." 

"Agreed!" said the beggar; 
" whate'er the decree, 
The verdict shall find me con- 
tent." 
"As to that," said the othei; 
" we 'U presently see." 
And so to the Cadi they went. 



THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 



145 



It chanced that a cause was en- 
grossing the Cadi, 
Where a woman occasioned the 
strife ; 
And both parties claimed the iden- 
tical lady 
As being his own lawful wife. 

The one was a peasant; a scholar 
the other; 
And each made a speech in his 
turn ; 
But, what was a very particular 
pother. 
The woman refused to be sworn. 

"Enough for the present!" the 
Cadi declared, 
"Come back in the morning," 
said he; 
"And now" (to Ben Akas) "the 
Court is prepared 
To hear what your grievance 
may be." 

Ben Akas no sooner the truth had 
narrated 
When the beggar as coolly re- 
plies : 
"I swear, by the Prophet! the 
fellow has stated 
A parcel of impudent lies ! 

" I was coming to market, and 
when I descried 
A man by the Avayside alone, 
Looking weary and faint, why, I 
gave him a ride; 
Now he swears that the horse is 
his own! " 

" Verj' well," said the Judge, "let 
us go to the stable. 
And each shall select in his 
turn." 
Ben Akas went first, and was 
easily able 
His favorite steed to discern. 
10 



The cripple went next; though 
the stable was full. 
The true one was instantly 
shown. 
" Your Honor," said he, " did you 
think me so dull 
That I could n't distinguish my 
own? " 

Next morning the Cadi came into 
the court. 
And sat himself down at his 
ease; 
And thither the suitors and people 
resort 
To list to the Judge's decrees. 

First calling the scholar, who sued 
for his spouse. 
His Honor thus settled the 
doubt: 
"The woman is yours; take her 
home to your house, 
And don't let her often go out." 

Then calling before him Ben Akas, 
whose cause 
Stood next in the calendar's 
course, 
He said: "By the Prophet's in- 
flexible laAvs, 
Let the merchant recover his 
horse ! 

" And as for the beggar, I further 
decide 
His villany fairly has earned 
A good hundred lashes well laid 
on his hide; 
Meskallah! The court is ad- 
journed." 

Ben Akas that night sought the 
Cadi's abode, 
And said: " 'T is the Caliph you 
see. 
Though hither, indeed, as a mer- 
chant I rode, 
I am Abou Ben Akas to thee." 



146 



THE UGLY AUNT. 



The Cadi, abashed, made the low- 
est of bows, 
And, kissing his Majesty's hand, 
Cried : " Great is the honor you do 
to my house ; 
I wait ifor your royal com- 
mand! " 

"I fain would possess," was the 
Caliph's reply, 
"Your wisdom; so tell me, I 
pray, 
How your Honor discovered where 
justice might lie 
In the causes decided to-day." 

" Why, as to the woman," the 
Cadi replied, 
" It was easily settled, I think; 
Just taking the lady a moment 



I said, ' Fill my standish with 
ink.' 

" And quick, at the order, the bot- 
tle was taken. 
With a dainty and dexterous 
hold ; 
The standish was washed; the 
fluid was shaken ; 
New cotton put in for the 
old — " 

"I see!" said the Caliph; "the 
story is pleasant ; 
Of course it was easy to tell 
The scholar swore truly ; the 
spouse of a peasant 
Could never have done it so 
well. 

" And now for the horse ? " " That 
was harder, I own, 
For, mark you, the beggarly elf 
(However the rascal may chance 
to have known) 
Knew the palfrey as well as 
yourself. 



" But the truth was apparent, the 
moment I learned 
What the animal thought of the 
two ; 
The impudent cripple he savagely 
spurned, 
But was plainly delighted witb 
you!" 

Ben Akas sat musing and silent 
awhile. 
As one whom devotion employs? 
Then, raising his head with a 
heavenly smile. 
He said, in a reverent voice : — 

" Sure Allah is good and abundant 
in grace ! 
Thy wisdom is greater than 
mine; 
I would that the Caliph might 
rule in his pla^^e 
As well as thou servest ir 
thine! " 



THE UGLY AUNT.5 



A NORWEGIAN TALE. 



It was a little maiden 
Lived long and long ago, 

(Though when it was, and where 
it was, 
I 'm sure I do not know,) 

And her face was all the fortune 
This maiden had to show. 



And yet — what many people 
Will think extremely rare 

In one who, like this maiden, 
Ne'er knew a mother's care- 



THE UGLY AUNT. 



147 



The neighbors all asserted 
That she was good as fair. 



"Alack! " exclaimed the damsel, 
While bitter tears she shed, 

"I 'm little skilled to labor, 
And yet I must be fed; 

I fain by daily service 

Would earn my daily bread." 



And so she sought a palace, 
Where dwelt a mighty queen, 

And when the royal lady 
The little maid' had se'en, 

She loved her for her beauty, 
Despite her lowly mien. 



Not long she served her Majesty 

Ere jealousy arose 
(Because she was the favorite, 

As you may well suppose). 
And all the other servants 

Became her bitter foes. 



And so these false companions, 

In envy of her face, 
Contrived a wicked stratagem 

To bring her to disgrace, 
And fill her soul with sorrow, 

And rob her of her place. 



They told her royal Majesty 
(Most arrant liars they !) 

That often, in their gossiping, 
Thev 'd heard the maiden say 

That she could spin a pound of flax 
All in a single day ! 



" Indeed !" exclaimed her Majesty, 
• ' I 'm fond of spinning, too ; 

So come, my little maiden, 
And make your boasting true: 

Or else your foolish vanity 
You presently may rue ! " 



Alas ! the hapless damsel 
Was now afflicted sore, 

No mother e'er had taught her 
In such ingenious lore; 

A spinning-wheel, in all her life, 
She ne'er had seen before ! 



But fearing much to tell the queen 
How she had been belied. 

She tried to spin upon the wheel. 
And still in vain she tried ; 

And so — 't was all that she could 
do — 
She sat her down and cried. 



Now while she thus laments her fate 
In sorrow deep and wild, 

A beldam stands before her view. 
And says, in accents mild: 

" What ails thee now, my pretty 
one. 
Say, what 's the matter, child ? " 



Soon as she heard the piteous case, 
" Cheer vip! " the beldam said, 

"I '11 spin for thee the pound of flax^ 
And thou shalt go to bed. 

If only thou wilt call me ' aunt,' 
The day that thou art wedi " 



The maiden promised true and fair 
And when the day was done. 



THE THREE GIFTS. 



148 

The queen went in to see the task, 
And found it fairly spun. 

Quoth she, "I love thee passing 
well, 
And thou shalt wed my son. 



" For one who spins so well a^ thee 
(In sooth! 't is wondrous fine!) 

With beauty, too, so verv rare, 
And goodness such as thine. 

Should be the daughter of a queen. 
And 1 will have thee mine ! 

XV. 

Now when the wedding-day had 
come. 

And, decked in royal pride. 
Around the smoking table sat 

The bridegroom and the bride. 
With all the royal kinsfolk, 

And many guests beside, 

XVI. 

In came a beldam, with a frisk; 

Was ever dame so bold ? 
Or one so lean and wrinkled, 

So ugly and so old. 
Or with a nose so very long 

And shocking to behold? 

XVII. 

Now while they sat in wonderment 
This curious dame to see. 

She said unto the Princess, 
As bold as bold could be: 

" Good morrow, gentle lady ! " 
"Good morrow. Aunt!'' quotb 
she. 

XVIII. 

The Prince with gay demeanor. 
But with an inward groan, 

Then bade her sit at table, 
And said, in friendly tone, 



"If you 're my bride's relation, 
Why, then you are my own! '* 

XIX. 

When dinner now was ended, 
As you may well suppose, 

The Prince still thought about his 
Aunt, 
And still his wonder rose 

Where could the ugly beldam 
Have got so long a nose. 



At last he plainly asked her, 
Before that merry throng, 

And she as plainly answered 
(Nor deemedhis freedom wrong) : 

" 'T was spinning, in my girlhood, 
That made my nose so long." 

XXI. 

"Indeed!" exclaimed his High- 
ness, 
And then and there he swore : 
" Though spinning made me hus- 
band 
To her whom 1 adore. 
Lest she should spoil her beauty, 
Why, she shall spin no more ! 



THE THREE GIFTS. 

A TALE OF NORTH GERMANY. 

Three gentlemen mounted their 
horses one day, 
And far in the country they rode. 
Till they came to a cottage, that 
stood by the way, 
Where an honest old w^ver 
abode. 



THE THREE GIFTS. 



149 



This honest old weaver was wretch- 
edly poor, 
Yet he never was surly or sad ; 
He welcomed the travellers into his 
door, 
And gave them the best that he 
had. 

They ate and they drank, till the 
weaver began 
To fear that they never would 
cease; 
But when they had finished, they 
gave to the man 
A hundred gold guineas apiece. 

Then the gentlemen mounted their 
horses again. 
And, bidding the weaver " Good 
night," 
Went dashing away over valley 
and plain, 
And were presently lost to his 
sight. 

Sure never was weaver so happy 
before. 
And never seemed guineas so 
bright; 
He counted the pieces a hundred 
times o'er. 
With more than a miser's de- 
light. 

Then snug in some rags he hid 
them away. 
As if he had got them by 
stealth. 
Lest his meddlesome wife, who 
was absent that day. 
Should know of his wonderful 
wealth. 

Soon after, a travelling rag-dealer 
came, 
The rags in the bundle were sold, 



And with them (the woman was 
little to blame) 
The three hundred guineas of 
gold. 

When a calendar year had vanished 
and fled. 
The gentlemen came as before. 
"Now how does it happen," they 
moodily said, 
"We find you so wretchedly 
poorV " 

"Alas!" said the weaver, "this 
many a day 
The money is missing, in sooth; 
In a bundle of rags it was hidden 
away, 
('Fore God! I am telling the 
truth.) 

" But once, in my absence, a rag- 
dealer came. 
The rags in the bundle were sold, 
And with them (the woman was 
surely to blame) 
The three hundred guineas of 
gold." 

"It was foolishly done," the gen- 
tlemen swore ; 
"Now, prithee, be careful of 
these." 
And they gave him again, the same 
as before, 
A hundred gold guineas apiece. 

Then the gentlemen mounted their 
horses again, 
And, bidding the weaver "Good 
night," 
Went dashing away over valley 
and plain. 
And were presently lost to his 
sight. 



160 



THE THREE GIFTS. 



"!' faith," said the weaver, "no 

wonder they chid ; 

But now I am wiser, I trust" 

So the three hundred guineas he 

carefully hid 

Far down in a barrel of dust. 

But soon, in his absence, a dust- 
man came. 
The dust in the barrel was sold ; 
And with it (the woman was little 
to blame) 
The three hundred guineas of 
gold. 

When a calendar year had vanished 
and fled. 
The gentlemen came as before. 
" Now how does it happen," they 
angrily said, 
"We find you so wretchedly 
poor?" 

"Was ever," he cried, "so luck- 
less a wi2;ht ? 
As surely as Heaven is just, 
The money I hid from my spouse's 
sight 
Far down in a barrel of dust; 

" But when I was absent the dust- 
man came. 
The dust in the barrel was sold, 
And with it (the woman was surely 
to blame) 
The three hundred guineas of 
gold." 

"Take that for your folly!" the 
gentlemen said ; 
" Was ever so silly a wight? " 
And they tossed on the table a 
lump of lead. 
And were presently out of his 
sight. 



"'Tis plain," said the weaver, 

" thev meant to flout, 

And little"^! marvel; alas! — 

My wife is a fool; and there isn't 

a doubt 

That I am an arrant ass ! " 

While thus he was musing in sor- 
sow and shame. 

And wishing that he were dead, 
Into his cottage a fisherman came 

To borrow a lump of lead. 

"Ah! here," he cried, " is the 
thing I wish 
To mend my broken net; 
Will vou give it me for the finest 
^ fish 
That I this day may get ? " 

" With all my heart ! " the weaver 

replies ; 

And so the fisherman brought 

That night a fish of wondrous 

size, — 

The finest that he had caught. 

He opened the fish, when lo and 
behold! 
He found a precious stone, — 
A diamond large as the lead he 
sold, 
And bright as the morning sun ! 

For a thousand guineas the stone 
he sold 
(It was worth a hundred more), 
And never, 't is said, in bliss or 
gold. 
Was weaver so rich before. 

But often — to keep her sway, no 

doubt. 

As a genuine woman must — 

The wife would say, " / brought it 

about ^ 

By selling the rags and dust! ' 



THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 
THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 



151 



I. 

" Once on a time " there flourished 
in Madrid 
A painter, clever, and the pet of 
Fame, 

Don Jos^, — but the rest were bet- 
ter hid ; 
So please accept the simple 
Christian name, 

Only, to keep my verse from being 
prosy, 

Pray mind your Spanish, and pro- 
nounce it, Hozy. 



Don Jos^, — who, it seems, had 
lately won 
Much praise and cash, — to crown 
a lucky week, 
Resolved for once to have a little 
fun. 
To ease him of his easel, — so to 



And so, in honor of his limning la- 
bors, 

He gave a party to his artist-neigh- 
bors. 



A strange affair ; for not a woman 

came 
To grace the table; e'en the 

painter's spouse, 
Donna Casilda, a most worthy 

dame. 
Was, rather roughly, told to quit 

the house. 
And go and gossip, for the evening, 

down 
Among her cousins in the lower 

town. 



The lady went ; but presently came 

back, 
For mirth or mischief, with a 

jolly cousin. 
And sought a closet, where an 

ample crack 
Revealed the revellers, sitting, 

by the dozen, 
Discussing wine and — Art ? — No, 

"women folks!" 
In senseless satire and indecent 

jokes. 

V. 

" Women? " said Jose, " what do 

women know 
Of poetry or painting? " (" Hear 

him" talk! " 
Whispered the list'ners.) " When 

did woman show 
A ray of genius in the higher 

walk 
Of either? No; to them the gods 

impart 
Arts, — quite enough, — but deuce 

a bit of Art!" 



("Wretch!" cried the ladies.) 

" Yes," said Jos^, " take 
Away from women love-intrigues 

and all 
The cheap disguises they are wont 

to make 
To hide their spots, — they 'd 

sing extremely small ! ' ' 
(" Fool ! " said his spouse, " we' 11 

settle, by and by. 
Who sings the smallest, villain, — 

you or I!") 



To make the matter worse, the jo- 
vial guests 
Were duly mindfu\ not to be ex- 
ceeded 



152 



THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 



In coarse allusions and unsavory 
jests, 
But — following Jose — talked, 
of course, as he did; 

I 've been, myself, to many a bach- 
elor-party, 

And found them, mainly, less re- 
fined than hearty. 



The party over, full of inward ire, 
Casilda plotted, silently and 

long, 
Some fitting vengeance. Women 

seldom tire 
In their resentments, whether 

right or wrong : 
In classic authors we are often 

warned 
There 's naught so savage as a 

" woman scorned." 



Besides, Casilda, be it known, had 

much 
Of what the French applaud — 

and not amiss — 
As savoir-faire (I do not know the 

Dutch); 
The literal Germans call it Mut- 

terwiss, 
The Yankees gumption, and the 

Grecians nous, — 
A useful thing to have about the 

house. 



At length the lady hit upon a plan 
Worthy of Hermes for its deep 
disguise; 
She got a carpenter, — a trusty 
man, — 
To make a door, and of a certain 
size, 



With curious carvings and heral- 
dic bands, 

And bade him wait her ladyship's 
commands. 



Then falling sick, — as gentle la- 
dies know 
The ready art, unless romances 
lie, — 

She groaned aloud, and bade Don, 
Jos^ go, 
And quickly, too. — or she 
should surely die, — 

And fetch her nurse, — a woman 
who abode 

Some three miles distant by the 
nearest road. 

XII. 

With many a frown and many a 

bitter curse 
He heard the summons. ' T was 

a pretty hour. 
He said, to go a-gadding for a 

nurse ! 
At twelve at night! — and in a 

drenching shower ! 
He 'd never go, — unless the devil 

sent, — 
And then Don Jos6 took his hat 

and went ! 

XIII. 

A long, long hour he paced the 

dirty street 
Where dwelt the nurse, but 

could n't find the place ; 
For he had lost the number; and 

his feet. 
Though clad in leather, made a 

bootless chase; 
He fain had questioned some one-, 

all in vain, — 
The very thieves were fearful of 

the rain ! 



THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 



153 



XIV. 

Returning homeward from his 
weary tramp, 
He reached Im house, — or 
where his house should be ; 

When, by the glimmer of the entry- 
lamp, 
Don Jose saw — and marvelled 
much to see — 

An ancient, strange, and most fan- 
tastic door. 

The like whereof he 'd never seen 
before ! 

XV. 

"Now, by Our Lady! this is 
mighty queer ! ' ' 
Cried Jose, staring at the graven 
wood, 

•'I know my dwelling stands ex- 
actly here ; 
At least, I'm certain here is 
where it stood 

Two hours ago, when (here he gave 
a curse) 

Donna Casilda sent me for the 
nurse. 

XVI. 

"I know the houses upon either 
side; 
There stands the dwelling of the 
undertaker ; 

Here my good friend Morena lived 
and died ; 
And here 's the shop of old Trap- 
pal, the baker; 

And yet, as sure as iron is n't brass, 

' T is not my door, or I 'm a precious 
ass.f^ 

XVII. 

"However, I will knock " ; and so 
he did, 
And called, "Casilda!" loud 
enough to rouse 



The very dullest watchman in 

Madrid ; 
But woke, instead, the porter of 

the house. 
Who rudely asked him, Where he 

got his beer ? 
And bade him, " Go ! — there 's no 

Casilda here! " 



XVIII. 

Don Jose crossed himself in dire 

dismay. 
Lest he had lost his reason, oi 

his sight; 
At least 't was certain he had los\, 

his way; 
And, hoping sleep might set th* 

matter right, 
He sought and found the dwelling 

of a friend 
Who lived in town, — quite at the 

other end. 

XIX. 

Next morning Jos^, rising witn the 
sun. 
Returned, once more, to seek the 
missing house; 

And there it stood, as it had always 
done, 
And there stood also his indig- 
nant spouse 

With half her city cousins at her 
back. 

Waiting to put poor Jose on the 
rack. 



" A charming husband, you ! " the 
dame began, 
" To leave your spouse in peril 
of her life. 
For tavern revellers! You're a 
pretty man. 
Thus to desert your lawful, wed- 
ded wife, 



154 



THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. 



And spend your nights — vil- 
lain ! — don't explain, 

I '11 be revenged if there is law in 
Spain!" 



" Naj'-, Madam, hear me ! — just a 
single word — " 
And then he told her of his fruit- 
less search 

To find the beldam ; and of what 
occurred, — 
How his own house had left him 
in the lurch ! 

Here such a stream of scorn came 
pouring in, 

Don Jose's voice was smothered in 
the din. 



"Nay," said Casilda, '■"that will 
never do; 
Your own confession plainly puts 
you down ! 

Say you were tipsy (it were noth- 
ing new), 
And spent the night carousing 
through the town 

With other topers ; that may be re- 
ceived; 

But, faith ! your tale will never be 
believed! " 



Crazed with the clamor of the noisy 
crew 
All singing chorus to the injured 
dame, 
Say, what the deuce could poor 
Don Jose do ? — 
He prayed for pardon, and con- 
fessed his shame ; 



And gave no dinners, in his future 

^life. 
Without remembering to invite his 
wife! 



THE DERVIS AND HIS ENE^ 
MIES. 

A TURKISH LEGEND. 



Near Babylon, in ancient times, 
There dwelt a humble, pious 
Dervis 
Who lived on alms, and spent hi* 

days 
In exhortation, prayer, and 
praise, — 
Devoted to the Prophet's service. 



To him, one day, a neighbor sent 
A gift extremely rare and pleas- 
ant, — 
A fatted ox of goodly size ; 
Whereat the grateful Dervis cries, 
" Allah be praised for this fine 
present!" 



So large a gift were hard to hide; 

Nor was he careful to conceal it; 
Indeed, a thief had chanced to spy 
The ox as he was passing by. 

And so resolved to go and steal it. 

IV. 

Now while he sought, with this in- 
tent, 
The owner's humble habitation, 



THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. 



155 



ITe met a stranger near the place, 
Who seemed, to judge him by his 
face, 
A person of his own vocation. 



A.nd so the thief, as one who knew 

What to a brother-rogue was 

owing, 

Politely bade the man " Good day," 

A.nd asked him, in a friendly way. 

His name, and whither he was 

going. 

VI. 

The stranger bowed, and gruffly 
said: 
" My name is Satan, at your ser- 
vice! 
And I am going, Sir, to kill 
A. man who lives near yonder 
hill, - 
A felloAv called the ' Holy Dervi«.' 



"I hate him as a mortal foe; 
For, spite of me and Nature's 
bias. 
There 's scarce a knave in all these 

parts 
But this vile Dervis, by his arts. 
Has made him honest, chaste, 
and pious ! " 



" Sir, I am yours ! " the thief re- 
plied ; 
" I scorn to live by honest labor; 
And even now I 'm on my way 
To steal an ox received to-day 
By this same Dervis from a 
neighbor." 



" I 'm glad to see you," said the 
fiend, 
"You seem, indeed, a younger 
brother; 
And, faith ! in such a case as this, 
It certainly were much amiss 
If we should fail to aid each 
other!" 



While thus discoursing, sooth to 
say. 
Each knave had formed the 
resolution 
(Lest aught occur to mar his plan) 
To be himself the foremost man 
To put his scheme in execution. 



" For," said the thief unto himself, 
" Before his work is half com- 
pleted, 
The Dervis, murdered where he 

lies, 
Will rouse the neighbors with his 
cries. 
And so my plan will be de- 
feated!" 



"If he goes first," the other 
thought, 
" His cursed ox may chance to 
bellow; 
Or else, in breaking through the 

door. 
He '11 wake the Dervis with the roar. 
And I shall fail to kill the fel- 
low!" 



So when they reached the hermit's 
house. 
The devil whispered, quite de- 
murely, 



156 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 



" While I go in, you stand without ; 
My job despatched, we '11 go 
about 
The other business more secure- 
ly." 

XIV. 

" Nay," said the robber, " 1 pro- 
test 
I don't at all approve the meas- 
ure; 
This seems to me the better plan : 
Just wait till I have robbed the 
man, 
Then you may kill him at your 
leisure." 



Now when, at last, they both re- 
fused 
To yield the point in contro- 
versy, 
To such a height the quarrel rose. 
From words and threats they came 
to blows, 
And beat each other without 
mercy ! 



Perceiving that the devil's strokes 
Surpassed his own in weight 
and number, 
The thief, before he took to flight, 
Cried, "Murder! help!" with all 
his might, 
And roused the Dervis from his 
slumber. 



Thieves! thieves! 
going off 



" cried Satan, 



(To figure at some tavern-revel). 
And so by this fraternal strife 



The Dervis saved his ox and life, 
Despite the robber and the 
devil ! 



KAMPSINITUS AND THE 
BOBBERS. 

AN EGYPTIAN TALE. 

In charming old Herodotus, 
If you were college-bred, 

The Tale of Rampsinitus 
You may, perchance, have read} 

If not, 't is little matter, — 
You may read it here instead. 

This Rampsinitus was a king 
Who lived in days of old, 

And, finding that his treasury 
Was quite too small to hold 

His jewels and his money-bags 
Of silver and of gold, 

He built a secret chamber, 

With this intent alone, 
(That is, he got an architect 

And caused it to be done, ) 
A most substantial structure 

Of mortar and of stone. 

A very solid building 
It appeared to every eye, 

Except the master-mason's. 
Who plainly could espy 

One stone that fitted loosely 
When the masonry was dry. 

A dozen years had vanished. 
When, "in the common way, 

The architect was summoned 
His final debt to pay ; 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 



157 



And thus unto his children 
The dying man did say: — 

" Come hither now, my darling 
sons, 

Come, list my children twain, 
I have a little secret 

I am going to explain; 
'T is a comfort, now I 'm dying, 

That I have n't lived in vain." 



And then he plainly told them 
Of the trick that he had done ; 

How in the roj^al chamber 
He had put a sliding stone, — 

" You '11 find it near the bottom, 
On the side that 's next the sun. 



" Now I feel that I am going; 

Swift ebbs the vital tide; 
No longer in this wicked world 

My spirit may abide." 
And so this worthy gentleman 

Turned up his toes and died. 



It wasn't long before the sons 
Improved the father's hint. 

And searched the secret chamber 
To discover what was in 't; 

And found, by self-promotion. 
They were "Masters of the 
Mint!" 



At length King Rampsinitus 
Perceived, as well he might, 

His caskets and his money-bags 
Were getting rather light ; 

"And yet," quoth he, "my bolts 
and bars 
Are all exactly right ! 

•' I wonder how the cunning dog 
Has managed to get in ; 



However, it is clear enough, 

I 'm losing lots of tin; 
I '11 try the virtue of a trap 

Before the largest bin ! " 

In came the thief that very night, 
And soon the other chap. 

Who waited at the opening, 
On hearing something snap, 

Went in and found his brother 
A-sitting in the trap. 

" You see me in a pretty fix ! " 
The gallant fellow said ; 

" 'T is better, now, that one should 
die 
Than two of us be dead. 

Lest both should be detected, 
Cut ofi"my foolish head! " 



" Indeed," replied the other, 
" Such a cut were hardly kind, 

And to obey your order, 
I am truly disinclined; 

But, as you 're the elder brother, 
I suppose I ought to mind." 

So, with his iron hanger 

He severed, at a slap. 
The noddle of the victim, 

Which he carried through the 

And left the bleeding body 
A-sitting in the trap. 

His Majesty's amazement 
Of course was very great, 

On entering the chamber 
That held his cash and plate, 

To find the robber's body 
Without a bit of pate! 



To solve the mighty mystery 
Was now his whole intent; 



158 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 



And everywhere, to find the head, 

His officers were sent; 
But every man came back again 

No wiser than he went. 



At last he set a dozen men 

The mystery to trace ; 
And bade them watch the body 

In a very pubhc place, 
And note what sip;ns of sorrow 

They might see in any face. 

The robber, guessing what it 
meant, 
Was naturally shy ; 
And, though he mingled in the 
crowd, 
Took care to "mind his eye," 
For fear his brother's body-guard 
His sorrow should espy. 

" I '11 cheat 'em yet! " the fellow 
said; 

And so that very night, 
He planned a cunning stratagem 

To get the soldiers " tight " ; 
And steal away his brother's trunk 

Before the rnorning light. 

He got a dozen asses. 

And put upon their backs 

As many loads as donkeys 
Of wine in leather sacks; 

Then set the bags a-leaking 
From a dozen little cracks. 



Then going where the soldiers 
Were keeping watch and ward, 

The fellows saw the leaking wine 
With covetous regard. 

And straightway fell a-drinking. 
And drank extremely hard. 

The owner stormed and scolded 
With well-affected spunk, 



But still they kept a-drinking 
Till all of them were drunk; 

And so it was the robber 
Stole off his brother's trunk! 



Now when King Rampsinitus 
Had heard the latest news, 

'T is said his royal Majesty 
Expressed his royal views 

In language such as gentlemen 
Are seldom known to use. 



Now when a year had vanished, 
He formed another plan 

To catch the chap who 'd stolen 
The mutilated man; 

And summoning the Princess, 
His Majesty began; — 



" My daughter, hold a masquerade, 
And offer — as in fun — 

Five kisses (in your chamber) 
To every mother's son 

Who '11 tell the shrewdest mischief 
That he has ever done.^ 



" If you chance to find the robber 
By the trick that I have planned, 

Eemember, on the instant. 
To seize him by the hand. 

Then await such further orders 
As your father may command." 

The Princess made the party. 
Without the least dissent. 

'T was a general invitation. 
And everybody went, — 

The robber with the others. 
Though he guessed the king's 
intent. 



Now when the cunning robber 
Was questioned, like the rest. 



POOR TARTAR. 



159 



He said: *' Yoiir Royal Highness, 

I solemnly protest 
Of all my siibtle rogueries, 

I scarce know which is best; 



" But I ventm-e the opinion, 
'T was a rather pretty job, 

When, having with my hanger 
Cut oflf my brother's nob, 

I managed f'rom the soldiers 
His headless trunk to rob ! " 



And now the frightened Princess 
Gave a very heavy groan, 

For, to her consternation. 
The cunning thief had flown. 

And left the hand she grappled 
Still lying in her own ! 



(For he a hand had borrowed, 
'T is needful to be said, 

From the body of a gentleman 
That recently was dead. 

And that he gave the Princess 
The moment that he fled ! ) 



Then good King Rampsinitus 

Incontinently swore 
That this paragon of robbers 

He would persecute no more 
For such a clever rascal 

Had never lived before ! 



And in that goodly company. 

His Majesty declared 
That if the thief would show him- 
self 

His person should be spared. 
And with his only daughter 

In marriage should be paired ! 

And when King Rampsinitus 
Had run his mortal lease, 



He left them in his testament 
Just half a crown apiece ; 

May every modest mei'it 
Thus flourish and increase ! 



POOR TARTAR. 

A HUNGARIAN LEGEND. 



There 's trouble in Hungary, now, 

alas! 
There 's trouble on every hand! 

For that terrible man, 

The Tartar Khan, 
Is ravaging over the land ! 



He is riding forth with his ugly 
men^ 

To rob and ravish and slay; 
For deeds like those, 
You may well suppose. 

Are quite in the Tartar-way. 



And now he comes, that terrible 

chief. 
To a mansion grand and old ; 

And he peers about 

Within and without. 
And what do his eyes behold ? 



A thousand cattle in fold and field. 
And sheep all over the plain; 

And noble steeds 

Of rarest breeds, 
And beautiful crops of grain. 



160 



THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 



But finer still is the hoarded wealth 
That his ravished eyes behold; 

In silver plate 

Of wondrous weight, 
And jewels of pearl and gold ! 



A nobleman owns this fine estate ; 
And when the robber he sees, 

'T is not very queer 

He quakes with fear. 
And trembles a bit in the knees. 



He quakes in fear of his precious 

life. 
And, scarce suppressing a groan, 

*' Good Tartar," says he, 

" Whatever you see 
Be pleased to reckon your own ! " 

VIII. 

The Khan looked round in a lei- 
surely way 
As one who is puzzled to choose; 

When, cocking his ear. 

He chanced to hear 
The creak of feminine shoes. 



The Tartar smiled a villanous 

smile. 
When, like a lily in bloom, 

A lady fair 

With golden hair 
Came gliding into the room. 



The robber stared with amorous 

eyes; 
Was ever so winning a face '? 

And long he gazed 

As one amazed 
To see such beauty and grace. 



XI. 

A moment moi-e, and the lawless 

man 
Had seized his struggling prey, 

Without remorse. 

And taking horse 
He bore the lady away. 



"Now Heaven be praised!" 

nobleman cried, 
*' For many a mercy to me ! 

I bow me still 

Unto his will, — 
God pity the Tartar ! " said he 



the 



THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 



A HEBREW TALE. 



A PIOUS Rabbi, forced by heathen 
hate 
To quit the boundaries of his 
native land. 
Wandered abroad, submissive to 
his fate, 
Through pathless woods and 
wastes of burning sand. 



A patient ass, to bear him in his 
flight, 
A dog, to guard him from the 
robber's stealth, 
A lamp, by which to read the law 
at night, — 
Was all the pilgrim's store of 
worldly wealth. 



THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 



161 



At set of sun he reached a little 
town, 
And asked for shelter and a 
crumb of food; 
But every face repelled him with 
a frown, 
And so he sought a lodging in 
the wood. 

IV. 

* 'T is very hard," the weary 
traveller said, 
•'And most inhospitable, I pro- 
test, 
To send me fasting to this forest 
bed; 
But God is good, and means it 
for the best!" 



He lit his lamp to read the sacred 
law, 
Before he spread his mantle for 
the night ; 
But the wind rising with a sudden 
flaw. 
He read no more, —^ the gust put 
out the light. 



" 'T is strange," he said, " 't is 
very strange, indeed. 
That ere I lay me down to take 
my rest, 
A chapter of the law I may not 
read, — 
But God is good, and ali is for 
the best." 



With these consoling words the 
Rabbi tries 
To sleep, his head reposing on a 

log, 

11 



But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy 
eyes, 
A wolf came up and killed his 
faithful dog. 



"What new calamity is this?" 
he cried ; 
" My honest dog — a friend who 
stood the test 
When others failed — lies mur- 
dered at my side ! 
Well, — God is good, and means 
it for the best!" 



Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, 
when, alas! 
As if, at once, to crown his 
wretched lot, 
A hungry lion pounced upon the 
ass. 
And killed the faithful donkey 
on the spot. 



" Alas ! alas ! " the weeping Rabbi 
said, 
"Misfortune haunts me like a 
hateful guest ; 
My dog is gone, and now my ass 
is dead. 
Well, — God is good, and all is 
for the best! " 



At dawn of day, imploring heaven- 
ly grace, 
Once more he sought the town ; 
but all in vain ; 



162 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



A band of robbers had despoiled 
tlie place, 
And all the churlish citizens 
were slain ! 



XII. 

" Now God be praised ! " the grate- 
ful Rabbi cried, 
" If I had tarried in the town to 
rest, 
I too, with these poor villagers, 
had died. 
Sure, God is good, and all is for 
the best! 



"Had not the wanton wind put 
out my lamp, 
By which the sacred law I would 
have read, 
The light had shown the robbers 
to my camp. 
And here the villains would have 
left me dead. 



" Had not my faithful animals 
been slain. 
Their noise, no doubt, had drawn 
the robbers near. 
And so their master, it is very 
plain, 
Instead of them, had fallen mur- 
dered here. 



» Full well I see that this hath 
happened so 
To put my faith and patience to 
the test. 
Thanks to His name ! for now I 
surely know 
That God is good, and all is for 
the best: " 



THE WANDERING JEW.7 

A BALLAD. 

Come list, my dear, 
And you shall hear 
About the wonderful Wandering 
Jew, 
Who night and day, 
The legends say. 
Is taking a journey he never gets 
through. 

What is his name. 
Or whence he came, 
Or whither the weary wanderer 
goes; 
Or why he should stray 
In this singular way. 
Many have marvelled, but nobody- 
knows. 



Though oft, indeed, 
(As you may read 
ancient histories quaint and 

true, ) 
A man is seen 
Of haggard mien 
Whom people call the Wandering 



In 



Once in Brabant, 
With garments scant. 
And shoeless feet, a stranger ap- 
peared ; 
His step was slow. 
And white as snow 
Were his waving locks and flowing 
beard. 

His cheek was spare, 
His head was bare; 
And little he recked of heat or 
cold; 
Misfortune's trace 
Was in his face. 
And he seemed at least a century 
old. 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



163 



*' Now, goodman, bide," 
The people cried, 
"The night with us, — it were 
surely best; 
The wind is cold. 
And thou art old. 
And sorelv needest shelter and 
restl" 



" Thanks ! thanks ! " said he, 
" It may not be 
That I should tarry the night with 
you; 
I cannot stay ; 
I must away, 
For I, alas! am the Wandering 
Jew!" 



"We oft have read," 
The people said, 
''Thou bearest ever a nameless 
woe; 
Now, prithee tell 
How it befell 
That thou art always wandering 
so? " 



"The time would fail 

To tell my tale, 
And yet a little, ere I depart. 

Would I relate 

About my fate, 
For some, perhaps, may lay it to 
heart. 



*' When but a youth 
(And such, in sooth. 
Are ever of giddy and wanton 
mood), 
With tearless eye 
I saw pass by 
The Saviour bearing the hateful 
rood. 



" And when he stooped. 
And, groaning, drooped 
And staggered and fell beneath the 
weight, 
I cursed his name. 
And cried, ' For shame ! 
Move on, blasphemer, and meet thy 
fate ! ' 

"He raised his head. 

And, smiling, said: 
' Move on thyself ! In sorrow and 
pain. 

When I am gone 

Shalt thou move on. 
Nor rest thv foot till I come 



"Alas! the time 

That saw my crime, — 
'T was more than a thousand 
years ago ! 

And since that hour 

Some inward power 
Has kept me wandering to and fro. 

"I fain would die 
That I might lie 
With those who sleep in the silent 
tomb; 
But not for me 
Is rest, — till He 
Shall come to end my dreadful 
doom. 



" The pestilence 

That hurries hence 
A thousand souls in a single night 

Brings me no death 

Upon its breath. 
But passes by in its wayward flight. 

" The storm that wrecks 
A hundred decks. 
And drowns the shuddering, shriek- 
ing crew 



164 



THE TLtREE GOOD DAYS. 



Still leaves afloat 
The fragile boat 
That bears the life of the Wander- 
ing Jew. 



"But I must away; 

I cannot stay ; 
Nor further suffer a moment's loss ; 

Heed well the word 

That ye have heard, — 
Nor spurn the Saviour who bore 
the Cross!" 



THE THKEE GOOD DAYS. 

A LEGEND OF ITALY. 

In Casena dwelt a widow ; 

Worldly fortune she had none ; 
Nor a single near relation 

Save her silly, idle son. 



Little heeded ne her counsel 
When she bade him stir about, — 

Ever yawning, dozing, sleeping. 
Like a good-for-nothing lout. 

Oft and oft his mother told him 
, (Dame Lucetta was her name), 
'Rise, Lucello! (so she called 
him). 
Get thee out, — for veiy shame ! 



"See, the sun is high in heaven! 

Quit, my boy, your lazy bed; 
Go and seek some honest labor; 

So good days shall crown your 
head." 



Much the foolish fellow marvelled 
What "good days" might 
chance to be ; 

When, at last, the lad determined 
He would even go and see. 



So, next morning, lo! the slug- 
gard. 
Rising lazily and late. 
Sauntered forth, and on, and on- 
ward, 
Till he reached the city gate. 

Here Lucello, tired with walking 
In the sultry summer heat. 

Straightway "laid him down to 
slumber 
Right across the trodden street ! 



Now it chanced three wicked rob- 
bers. 
Coming from the secret place 
Where their stolen wealth was 
buried, 
Met the stranger face to face. 



And the first, as he was passing, 
Seeing some one in the way 

(For he stumbled on the sleeper), 
Bade him civilly, " Good day ! " 

" There is one ! " Lucello an- 
swered, 
Minding what the dame had said, 
How "good days," for good be- 
havior, 
Were to crown his lucky head. 



But the robber, conscience-smitten 
Touching the unlawful pelf, 

Deemed the words the lad had 
spoken 
Plainly pointed to himself! 



THE STORY OF ECHO. 



165 



Soon another robber, passing, 
His "Good day" was fain to 
give; 
"Here is luck!" exclaimed Lu- 
cello, 
*' That 's the second, as I live ! " 

Trembling, now the rogues awaited 
The arrival of the third, 

When again "Good day" was 
given. 
Which with joy Lucello heard. 

** Number three, by all that 's 

lucky!" 

Cried the boy, with keen delight ; 

"My good days are quickly coming; 

Faith! the dame was in the 

right ! " 

Whereupon the robbers, guessing 
That the lad was well aware 

Of the treasure they had hidden. 
Straightway offered him a share ; 

Which he joyfully accepted, 
And in triumph carried home, 

And with rapture told his mother. 
How his lucky days haJ come ! 



THE STORY OF ECHO. 

A BEAUTIFUL maiden was Echo, 
As classical history tells, 

A favorite nymph oi Diana, 
Who dwelt among forests and 
deUs. 

Now Echo was very loquacious. 
And though she' was silly and 
young. 

It seems that she never was weary 
Of plying l^r voluble tongue. 



And, I 'm sorrv to say in addition, 
Besides her impertinent clack, 

She had, upon every occasion, 
A habit of answering back. 

Though even the wisest of matrons 
In grave conversation was heard, 

Miss Echo forever insisted 

On having the ultimate word, — 

A fiiult so exceedingly hateful. 
That J«rio (whom Echo betrayed 

While the goddess was hearing the 
babble) 
Determined to punish the maid. 

Said she : "In reward of your folly. 
Henceforward in vain you will 
try 

To talk in the manner of others ; 
At best, you can only reply ! " 

A terrible punishment truly 
For one of so lively a turn. 
And it brought the poor maiden to 
ruin ; 
The way you shall presently 
learn. 

For, meeting the handsome Nar^ 
cissus, 

And wishing his favor to gain. 
Full often she tried to address him. 

But always endeavored in vain. 

And when, as it finally happened. 
He spoke to the damsel one day, 

Her answers seemed only to mock 
him. 
And drove him in anger away. 

Ah! sad was the fate of poor 
Echo, — 

Was ever so hapless a maid V 
She wasted away in her sorrow 

Until she was 'wholly decayed. 



166 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 



But her voice is still living immor- 
tal,— 
The same you have frequently- 
heard, 
In your rambles in valleys and 
forests, 
Repeating your ultimate word ! 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 

Two College Professors, — I won't 
give their names 

(Call one of them Jacob, the other 
one James), — 

Two College Professors, who ne'er 
in their lives 

Had wandered before from the care 
of their wives, 

One day in vacation, when lectures 
were through. 

And teachers and students had 
nothing to do. 

Took it into their noddles to go to 
the Races, 

To look at the nags, and examine 
their paces. 

And find out the meaning of " bolt- 
ing" and "baiting," 

And the (clearly preposterous) 
practice of '' waiting," 

And "laying long odds," and the 
other queer capers 

Which cram the reports that ap- 
pear in the papers ; 

And whether a "stake" is the 
same as a post '? 

And how far a "heat" may re- 
semble a roast ? 

And whether a " hedge," in the 
language of sport. 

Is much like the plain agricultural 
sortV 



And if " making a book " is a thing 
which requires 

A practical printer ? and who are 
the buyers ? — 

Such matters as these, — very 
proper to know, — 

And no thought of betting, in- 
duced them to go 

To the Annual Races, which then 
were in foi-ce 

(Horse-racing, in fact, is a matter 
of course, 

Apart from the pun) in a neighbor- 
ing town ; 

And so, as I said, the Professors 
went down. 

The day was the finest that ever 
was known; 

The atmosphere just of that tem- 
perate tone 

Which pleases the Spirit of (matt 
and) the Times, 

But impossible, quite, to describe 
in my rhymes. 

The track had been put in a capitiil 
plight 

By a smart dash of rain on the prt '■ 
vious night. 

And all things " went off" — save 
some of the horses — 

As lively as crickets or Kansas d> 



Arrived at the ground, it is easy to 

guess 
Our worthy Professors' dismay and 

distress 
At all the queer things which ex- 
panded their eyes 
(Not to mention their ears) to a 

wondei-ful size ! 
How they stared at the men who 

were playing at poker, 
And scolded the chap with the 

"sly little joker " ; 
And the boy who'had " something 

uncommonly nice," 



THE ORIGIN OF WINE. 



167 



Which he offered to sell at a very 
high price, — 

A volume that did n't seem over- 
refined, 

And clearly was not of the Sunday- 
school kind. 

All this, and much more, — but 
your patience will fail, 

Unless" I desist, and go on Avith my 
tale. 

Our worthy Professors no sooner 

had found 
Their (ten-shilling) seats in the 

circular ground, 
And looked at the horses, — when, 

presently, came 
A wish to know what was the Fa- 
vorite's name ; 
And how stood the betting, — quite 

plainly revealing 
The old irrepressible horse-race-y 

feeling 
Which is born in the bone, and is 

apt to come out 
When thorough-bred coursers are 

snorting about. 

The Professors, in fact, — I am 
grieved to report, — 

At the very first match entered 
into the sport. 

And bet (with each other) their 
money away — 

Just Fifty apiece — on the Brown 
and the Bay ; 

And shouted as loud as they ever 
could bellow, 

*' Hurrah for the fiUv ! " and " Go 
it, old fellow!" 

And, "Stick to your business!" 
and " Rattle your pegs ! " — 

Like a jolly old brace of profes- 
sional " Legs! " 

The race being over, quoth Jacob, 

" I see 
My wager is forfeit ; to that I agree 



The Fifty is yours, by the techni- 
cal rules 

Observed, I am told, by these 
horse-racing fools; 

But then, as a Christian, — I'm 
sony to say it, — 

My Conscience, you know, won't 
allow me to pay it! " 

"No matter," quoth James, "I 
can hardly refuse 

To accord with your sound theo- 
logical views : 

A tardy repentance is better than 
none ; 

I must tell you, however, 'twas 
your hors6 that won ! 

But of course you won't think of 
demanding the pelf. 

For / have a conscience as well as 
yourself! " 



THE ORIGIN OF WINE. 

A GERMAN LEGEND. 

Respectfully dedicated to 0. M. 
TiNKHAM, Esq. 



Ye friends of good cheer, I pray 
you give ear; 
I sing of old Noah who planted 
the vine; 
But first, if you please, our thirst 
to appease, 
Let's drink to his health in a 
bumper of wine ! 



When the Deluge was o'er, and 
good Father Noah 
Sat moping one day in the shade 
of a tree, 



168 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



An Angel came near, and thinking 
it queer, 

I: " Tell me, I pray 
the matter may be.'' 



It queer. 
Said: "Tell me, I prav, what 



Says Noah: "I'm curst with a 
horrible thirst ; 
So painful, indeed, I am ready 
to sink ; 
I have plenty to eat, there 's no 
lack of meat ; 
But, sir, on my honor, I've 
nothing to drink! " 



"See, on every side," the Angel 
replied, 
" There is water enough both in 
river and rill, 
Your fever to slake, — not to men- 
tion the lake. 
And many a fountain that flows 
from the hill." 



Says Noah: "I know the waters 
still flow. 
But the Deluge has ruined the 
fluid for drink; 
So many bad men were soaked in 
it then, 
The water now tastes of the sin- 
ners, I think." 



"It can't be denied," the Angel 
replied, 
" There is something of reason in 
what you have said ; 
Since the water is bad, it is fitting 
you had 
A good wholesome tipple to drink 
in its stead." 



Then flying away, the very next 
day 
The Angel came back with a 
handful of seeds; 
And taught the good man the 
properest plan 
Of planting, and hoeing, and 
killing the weeds. 



Ah! what color and shape! 'tis 
the beautiful grape ; 
In clusters of purple they hang 
from the vine ; 
And these being pressed, it is easily 
guessed 
Old Noah thenceforward drank 
nothing but wine. 



So, a cup ere we part to the man 
of our heart. 
Old Noah, the primitive grower 
of wine ; 
And one brimming cup (nay, fill 
it quite up) 
To the Angel who gave him the 
seed of the vine ! 



THE PARKOT OF NEVERS. 

I. 

Once on a time there flourished in 
Nevers, 
Within a nunnery of godly note, 
A famous parrot, so exceeding fair 
In the deep lustre of his emerald 
coat, 
They called him Ver-Vert, — syl- 
lables that mean 
In English much the same as 
Double Green. 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



169 



In youth transplanted from an In- 
dian strand, 
For his soul's health with Chris- 
tian folks to dwell, 

His morals yet were pure, his man- 
ners bland ; 
Gay, handsome, brilliant, and, 
the truth to tell, 

Pert and loquacious, as became 
his age ; 

In short, well worthy of his holy 
cage. 



Dear to the sisters for his winning 

ways 
Was gay Ver-Vert; they kept 

him'^ever near. 
And kindly taught him many a 

holy phrase, 
Enforced with titbits from their 

daily cheer. 
And loved' him better, they would 

oft declare. 
Than any one, except their darling 

Mere ! 



Ah! ne'er was parrot happier than 

he; 
And happy was the lucky girl 

of whom 
He asked — according as his whim 

might be — 
The privilege at eve to share her 

room. 
Where, perched upon the relics, he 

would sleep 
Through the long night in slumber 

calm and deep. 



At length, what joy to see ! — the 
bird had grown, 
With good example, thoughtful 
and devout. 



He said his prayers in Buch a nasal 
tone. 
His piety was quite beyond a 
doubt ; 

And some declared that soon, with 
proper teaching. 

He 'd rival the Superior at preach- 
ing! 



If any laughed to see his solemn 

ways. 
In curt rebuke, *' Orate .' " * he 

replied ; 
And when his zeal provoked a 

shower of praise, 
'■'■Deo sit lavs!'''' t the humble 

novice cried ; 
And many said they did n't mind 

confessing 
His " Pax sit tecum!'''' % brought 

a special blessing. 



Such wondrous talents, though 
awhile concealed. 
Could not be kept in secresy 
forever ; 

Some babbling nun the precious 
truth revealed, 
And all the town must see a bird 
so clever; 

Until at last so wide the wonder 
grew, 

'T was fairly bruited all the coun- 
try through. 



And so it fell, by most unlucky 
chance, 
A distant city of the parrot 
heard ; 

* Pray ! 

t Praise be to God. 

X Peace be with you. 



170 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



The story reached some sister-nuns 
at Nantz, 
Who fain themselves would see 
this precious bird 
Whose zeal and learning had suf- 
ficed to draw- 
On blest Nevers such honor and 
eclat. 



What could they do ? — well, here 

is what they did, 
To the good Abbess presently 

there went 
A friendly note, in which the 

writers bid 
A thousand blessings hasten 

their descent 
Upon her honored house, — and 

would she please 
To grant a favor asked upon their 

knees ? 



'T was only this, that she would 

deign to lend 
For a brief space that charming 

parroquet ; 
They hoped the bold request might 

not offend 
Her ladyship, but then they fain 

would get 
Such proof as only he could well 

advance 
To silence certain sceptic nuns of 

Nantz. 



The letter came to hand, and such 
a storm 
Of pious wrath was never heard 
before ; 
The mildest sister waxed exceed- 
ing warm, — 
"•Perdre Ver- Vert! Q del! 
plutot lamort!^^ 



They all broke forth in one terrific 

cry, 
What V — lose their darling ? — 

they would rather die ! 



XII. 

But, on reflection, it was reckoned 

best 
To take the matter into gi'ave 

debate. 
And put the question fairly to the 

test 
(Which seemed, indeed, a nice 

affair of state). 
If they should lend their precious 

pet or not ; 
And so they held a session, lonf^ 

and hot. 



XIII. 

The sisters all with one aocori 

express 
Their disapproval in a noisy 

"No!" 
The graver dame — who loved the 

parrot less — 
Declared, Perhaps 't were be?t 

to let him go ; 
Kefusal was ungracious, and, iii^ 

deed. 
An ugly quarrel might suffice to 

breed. 



XIV. 

Vain was the clamor of the younger 
set; 
"Just fifteen days and not a 
moment more " 
(Mamma decided) " we will lend 
our pet; 
Of course his absence we shall 
all deplore, 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



171 



But then, remember, he is only lent 
For two short weeks," — and off 
the parrot went ! 



XV. 

In the same bark that bore the 
bird away 
Were several 'Gascons and a vul- 
gar nurse, 

Besides two Cyprian ladies ; sooth 
to say, 
Ver- Vert's companions could n't 
have been worse. 

Small profit such a youth might 
hope to gain 

From wretches so licentious and 
profane. 



XVI. 

Their manners struck him as ex- 
tremely queer; 
Such oaths and curses he had 
never heard 

As now in volleys stunned his 
saintly ear; 
Although he did n't understand 
a word, 

Their conversation seemed im- 
proper, very, 

To one brought up within a mon- 
astery. 

XVII. 

For his, remember, was a Christian 

tongue 
Unskilled in aught save pious 

prose or verse 
By his good sisters daily said or 

sung; 
And now to hear the Gascons 

and the nurse 
Go on in such a roaring, ribald 

way, 
He knew not what to think, nor 

what to say. 



And so he mused in silence ; till at 

last 
The nurse reproached him for a 

sullen fool. 
And poured upon him a terrific 

blast 
Of questions, such as, where 

he 'd been to school ? 
And was he used to travelling 

about ? 
And did his mother know that he 

was out V 



'■^Ave Maria! " * said the parrot, 
— vexed 
By so much banter into sudden 
speech, — 
Whereat all laughed to hear the 
holy text, 
And cried, " By Jove! the chap 
is going to preach ! " 
"Come," they exclaimed, "let's 
have a song instead." 
" Cantate Domino .' " f the par- 
rot said. 



At this reply they laughed so loud 

and long 
That poor Ver- Vert was fairly 

stricken dumb. 
In vain the}' teased him for a 

merr}^ song; 
Abashed by ridicule and quite 

o'eroome 
With virulent abuse, the wretched 

bird 
For two whole days refused to 

speak a word. 



* Hail Mary. 

t Let us slug unto the Lord. 



172 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



Meanwhile he listened to their vile 
discourse 
In deep disgust; but still the 
stranger thought 

Their slang surpassed in freedom, 
pith, and force 
The purer language which the 
missal taught, 

And seemed, besides, an easier 
tongue to speak 

Than prayer-book Latin or monas- 
tic Greek. 



In short, to tell the melancholy- 
truth, 
Before the boat had reached its 
destined shore 

He who embarked a pure, ingen- 
uous youth. 
Had grown a profligate, and 
cursed and swore 

Such dreadful oaths as e'en the 
Gascons heard 

With shame, and said, " The 
Devil 's in the bird! " 

XXIII. 

At length the vessel has arrived 
in port 
And half the sisterhood are wait- 
ing there 

To greet their guest, and safely to 
escort 
To their own house the wonder- 
ful Ver-Vert, — 

The precious parrot whom their 
fancies paint 

Crowned with a halo like a very 
saint ! 



Great was the clamor when their 
eyes beheld 
The charming stranger in the 
emerald coat; 



"Ver-Vert, indeed!" — his very 

hue compelled 
A shout of praise that reached 

the highest note. 
" And then such eyes ! and such a 

graceful walk ! 
And soon — what rapture ! — we 

shall hear him talk ! " 



At length the Abbess, in a nasal 

chant 
(Intended, doubtless, for a pretty 

speech). 
Showered him with thanks that he 

had deigned to grant 
His worthy presence there, and 

to beseech 
His benediction in such gracious 

terms 
As might befit the sinfulest of 

worms. 



Alas for youthful piety I the bird, 
Still thinking o'er the lessons 

latest learned. 
For a full minute answered not a 

word. 
And then, as if to show how 

much he spurned 
The early teachings of his hoJy 

school. 
He merely muttered, "Curse the 

silly fool!" 



XXVII. 

The lady, startled at the queer re- 
mark, 
Could not but think that she had 
heard amiss ; 
And so began to speak again, — • 
but hark ! 
What diabolic dialect is this V — 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



11 Z 



Such language for a saint was 

most improper, 
Each word an oath, and every 

oath a whopper ! 



XXVIII. 

"Parbleu!'' ''Morbleu! 
everj' azure curse 



and 
strictly disal- 



To pious peopl 
lowed, 

Including others that were vastly 
worse, 
Came rattling forth on the aston- 
ished crowd 

In such a storm that one might 
well compare 

The dreadful volley to a feu 
cfenfer ! 



XXIX. 

All stood aghast in horror and dis- 
may; 
Some cried, "For shame! is 
that the way they teach 

Their pupils atNeveffeV" Some 
ran away, 
Eending the welkin with a pier- 
cing screech ; 

Some stopt their ears for modesty ; 
and some 

(Though shocked) stood waiting 
something worse to come. 



In brief, the dame, replete with 
holy rage 

At being thus insulted and dis- 
graced, 

Shut up the hateful parrot in his 
cage. 
And sent him back with all con- 
venient haste 



And this indignant note: " In time 

to come 
Be pleased to keep your precious 

prize at home! " 

XXXI, 

When to Nevers the wicked wan- 
derer came. 
All were delighted at his quick 
return ; 

But who can paint their sorrow 
and their shame 
When the sad truth the gentle 
sisters learn. 

That he who left them chanting 
pious verses, 

Now greets his friends with horrid 
oaths and curses ! 



XXXII. 

'T is said that after many bitter 

days 
In wholesome solitude and penance 



Ver-Vert grew meek, reformed his 
wicked ways, 
And died a hopeful penitent at 
last. 

The moral of my story is n't 
deep, — 

*' Young folks, beware what com- 
pany you keep ! " 



KING SOLOMON AND THE 
BEES. 

A TALE OF THE TALMUD. 
I. 

When Solomon was reigning in 
his glory. 
Unto his throne the Queen of 
Sheba came, 



174 



KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. 



(So in the Talmud you may read 
the story) 
Drawn by the magic of the mon- 
arch's fame, 

To see the splendors of his court, 
and bring 

Some fitting tribute to the mighty 
king. 



Nor this alone; much had her 
Highness heard 
What flowers of learning graced 
the royal speech ; 

What gems of wisdom dropped 
with every word; 
What wholesome lessons he was 
wont to teach 

In pleasing proverbs; and she 
wished, in sooth. 

To know if Eumor spoke the sim- 
ple truth. 



Besides, the queen had heard 

(which piqued her most) 
How through the deepest riddles 

he could spy ; 
How all the curious arts that 

women boast 
Were quite transparent to his 

piercing eye; 
And so the queen had come — a 

royal guest — 
To put the sage's cunning to the 

test. 



A.nd straight she held before the 
monarch's view, 
In either hand, a radiant wreath 
of flowers ; 
The one, bedecked with every 
charming hue. 
Was newly culled from Nature's 
choicest bowers ; 



The other, no less fair in every 

part. 
Was the rai-e product of divinest 

Art. 



" Which is the true, and which the 
false V " she said. 
Great Solomon was silent. All- 
amazed, 

Each wondering courtier shook his 
puzzled head, 
While at the garlands long the 
monarch gazed. 

As one who sees a miracle, and 
fain, 

For very rapture, ne'er would 
speak again. 



" Which is the true? " once more 

the woman asked. 
Pleased at the fond amazement 

of the king, 
" So wise a head should not be 

hardly tasked, 
Most learned liege, with such a 

trivial thing! " 
But still the sage was silent; it 

was plain 
A deepening doubt perplexed the 

royal brain. 



While thus he pondered, presently 
he sees, 
Hard by the casement, — so the 
story goes, — 
A little band of busy, bustling 
bees, 
Hunting for honey in a withered 



TEE PIOUS BRAHMIN AND HIS NEIGHBORS. 175 



The monarch smiled, and raised 

his royal head; 
" Open the window ! " — that was 

all he said. 



The window opened at the king's 
command ; 
Within the room the eager in- 
sects flew, 

And sought the flowers in Sheba's 
dexter hand ! 

And so the king and all the cour- 
tiers knew 

That wreath was Nature's; and 
the baffled queen 

Returned to tell the wonders she 
had seen. 



My story teaches (every tale 
should bear 
A fitting moral) that the wise 
may find 
Id trifles light as atoms in the air, 
Some useful lesson to enrich the 
mind, 
Some truth designed to profit or to 
please, — 
As Israel's king learned wisdom 
from the bees ! 



THE PIOUS BRAHMIN AND 
HIS NEIGHBORS. 

A HINDOO FABLE. 

A PIOUS Brahmin made a vow 

Upon a certain day 
To sacrifice a fatted sheep ; 

And so, his vow to pay. 
One morning to the market-place 

The Brahmin took his way. 



It chanced three cunning neigh- 
bors, 

Three rogues of brazen brow, 
Had formed the wicked purpose 

(My tale will tell you how), 
To cheat the pious Brahmin, 

And profit by his vow. 

The leader of these cunning knaves 
Went forth upon the road, 

And bearing on his shoulders 
What seemed a heavy load, 

He met the pious Brahmin 
Not far from his abode. 

" What have you there ? " the 
Brahmin said. 

" Indeed," the man replies, 
*' I have the finest, fattest sheep, 

And of the largest size; 
A sheep Avell worthy to be slain 

In solemn sacrifice! " 



And then the rogue laid down his 
load. 
And from a bag drew forth 
A scurvy dog. "See there!" 
he cried, 
" The finest sheep on earth ! 
And you shall have him, if you 
will. 
For less than he is worth." 

" Wretch! " cried the pious Brah- 
min, 

" To call a beast so mean 
A goodly sheep I 'T is but a dog 

Accursed and unclean; 
The foulest, leanest, lamest cur 

That ever yet was seen! " 

Just then the second rogue came 
up. 
"What luck!" he said, "to 
find 
So soon a sheep in flesh and fleece 
Exactly to my mind ! " 



176 



THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN ST ANN. 



" A sheep V " exclaimed the Brah- 
min, 
" Then I am surely blind ! " 

" You must be very blind indeed, 

Or fond of telling lies, 
To say the beast is not a sheep ! " 

The cunning rogue replies ; 
" Go get a leech to mend your 
tongue. 

Or else to mend your eyes ! " 



Now while these men disputed 
thus, 
The other rogue drew near, 
And all agreed this honest man 

Should make the matter clear. 
" stranger! " cried the Brahmin, 
" What creature have we 
here?" 



"A goodly sheep! " the stranger 
said. 
" Alas ! " the Brahmin cried, 
"A moment since I would have 
sworn 
This honest fellow lied ; 
But now I know it is a sheep. 
Since thus you all decide 1 " 



And so it was the cunning knaves 
Prevailed in their device ; 

The pious Brahmin bought the dog, 
Nor higgled at the price. 

'"Twill make," he said, "unto 
the gods 
A pleasing sacrifice ! " 

But ill betide the fatal hour 
His filthy blood was shed ; 

It brought no benison, alas ! 
Upon the Brahmin's head; 

The gods were angry at the deed, 
And sent a curse instead ! 



The meaning of this pleasant tale 

Is very plainly shown ; 
The man is sure to fall, at last. 

Who does n't stand alone; 
Don't trust to other people's eyes, 

But learn to mind your own ! 



THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN 

STANN.8 



I CANNOT vouch my tale is true. 
Nor swear, indeed, 'tis wholly new; 
But, true or false, or new or old, 
I think you '11 find it fairly told. 
A Frenchman, who had ne'er 
before 
Set foot upon a foreign shore. 
Weary of home, resolved to go 
And see what Holland had to show. 
He did n't know a word of Dutch, 
But that could hardly grieve him 

much; 
He thought, — as Frenchmen al- 
ways do, — 
That all the world could parley- 
voo! 
At length our eager tourist stands 
Within the famous Netherlands, 
And, strolling gayly here and there 
In search of something rich or rare, 
A lordly mansion greets his eyes. 
" How beautiful ! " the Frenchman 

cries, 
And, bowing to the man who sate 
In livery at the garden-gate ; 
" Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please, 
Whose very charming grounds are 

these ? 
And — pardon me — be pleased to 

tell 
Who in this splendid house may 

dwell?" 
To which, in Dutch, the puzzled 
man 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 



177 



Replied what seemed like " Nick 

Van Stann.''^ * 
" Thanks! " said the Gaul, " the 

owner's taste 
Is equally superb and chaste ; 
So fine a house, upon my word. 
Not even Paris can afford. 
With statues, too, in every niche, 
Of course. Monsieur Van Stann is 

rich, 
And lives, I warrant, like a king, — 
Ah! wealth must be a charming 

thing! " 
In Amsterdam the Frenchman 

meets 
A thousand wonders in the streets ; 
But most he marvels to behold 
A lady dressed in silk and gold. 
Gazing with rapture at the dame. 
He begs to know the lady's name, 
And hears — to raise his wonder 

more — 
The very words he heard before. 
^^ Mercie P'' he cries, ''well, on 

my life. 
Milord has got a charming wife ; 
'T is plain to see, this Nick Van 

Stann 
Must be a very happy man ! " 

Next day, our tourist chanced 

to pop 
His head within a lottery-shop. 
And there he saw, with staring 

eyes. 
The drawing of the Mammoth 

Prize. 
"Ten Millions! 'T is a pretty 

sum; 
I wish I had as much at home ! 
I 'd like to know, as I 'm a sinner. 
What lucky fellow is the winner." 
Conceive our traveller's amaze 
To hear again the hackneyed 

phrase ! 



* Ik kan niet verstaan, 
derstaud. 

12 



I don't un- 



•' What! No? not Nick Van Stann 

again ? 
Faith! he 's the luckiest of men! 
You may be sure we don't advance 
So rapidly as that in France. 
A house, "the finest in the land; 
A lovely garden, nicely planned ; 
A perfect angel of a wife, 
And gold enough to last a life, — 
There never yet was mortal man 
So blest as Monsieur Nick Van 

Stann ! 

Next day the Frenchman chanced 

to meet 
A pompous funeral in the street. 
And asking one who stood near by 
What nobleman had pleased to 

dieV 
Was stunned to hear the old reply. 
The Frenchman sighed and shook 

his head. 
" 3Ion Dieu ! poor Nick Van Stann 

is dead! 
With such a house, and such a 

wife. 
It must be hard to part with life; 
And then, to lose that Mammoth 

Prize — 
He wins, and — pop ! — the winner 

dies! 
Ah! well, his blessings came so 

fast 
I greatly feared they could n' t last ; 
And thus, we see, the sword of 

Fate 
Cuts down alike the small and 

great! " 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE 
FLOUNDER. 

A GERMAN FAIRY TALE. 

A FISHERMAN, poor as poor can be, 
Who lived in a hovel beside the sea, 



178 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 



Was fishing one day, when " Lo ! " 

he cries, 
" I 've caught a flounder of won- 
drous size, 
As fine a flounder as one could 

wish ! " 
" no, you have n't! " exclaimed 

the fish ; 
"In spite of my scaly skin," he 

said, 
" I am not a fish, but a Prince in- 
stead; 
Condemned to suffer this watery 

woe; 
So I beg, good man, you will let 

me go! " 
The fisherman, frightened at what 

he heard. 
Let the flounder go with never a 

word 
Except " Good by! I 'd rather es- 
chew 
Than cook a flounder who talks 

like you! " 
His hovel now the fisherman 

sought. 
And told his wife of the fish he 

caught. 
And how his luck was all in 

vain, 
For he let the flounder off" again ! 
" And did you ask for nothing ? — 

alack! " 
The woman cried : " Go presently 

back. 
And tell the Prince of our wretched 

lot. 
And ask him to give us a finer 

cot!" 
To mind his wife he was something 

loth, 
But he feared the woman when she 

was wroth ; 
And so he went to the ocean-side. 
And thus the fisherman loudly 

cried : 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me ; 



For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer Ihings I fear to 

name." 
Whereat the flounder, swimming 

near, 
Said, " Why, why, am I sum- 
moned here? " 
And the trembling fisherman an- 
swered thus : 
"My dame is always making a 

fuss; 
A cosey hovel is hers and mine, 
But she fain would have a cottage 

fine!" 
"Go home," said the fish, "this 

very minute; 
The cottage is hers; you'll find 

her in it! " 
He hied him home in haste, and lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so. 
" How happy," he cried, " we now 

shall be!" 
But the woman answered, "We 

shall see! " 
When a month was past, the wo- 
man sighed 
For a larger house. "Now go," 

she cried, 
"And tell the flounder ('tis my 

command ) 
I want a mansion large and 

grand ! " 
To mind the dame he was truly 

loth. 
But he feared the woman when she 

was wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side. 
And loudly thus the fisherman 

criel : 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me; 
For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer things I fear to 

name." 
Whereat the flounder, swimming 

near. 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here?" 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 



179 



And the trembling fisherman an- 
swered thus : 
" My wife is always making a 

fuss; 
She deems our cottage much too 

small ; 
She wants a mansion large and 

tall." 
"Go home," said the fish, "this 

very minute ; 
The mansion is there; you '11 find 

her in it! " 
He hied him home in haste, and lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so. 
And he cried, " How happy we 

shall be! " 
But the woman answered, "We 

shall see! " 
When a week was past, the woman 

sighed 
For a castle grand. "Now go," 

she cried, 
"And tell the flounder that he 

must give 
Your wife a palace wherein to 

live." 
To mind the dame he was greatly 

loth, 
But he feared the woman when 

she was wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side. 
And softly thus the fisherman 

cried : 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me ; 
For Pauline, my loving dame. 
Wants queer things I fear to 

name! " 
Whereat the flounder, swimming 

near. 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here ? ' ' 
And the trembling fisherman an- 
swered thus : 
"My dame is always making a 

fuss; 
She deems our mansion poorly 

planned; 



She wants a palace great and 

grand! " 
"Go home," said the fish, "this 

A^ery minute; 
The palace is there; j'ou '11 find 

her in it! " 
He hied him home in haste, and, 

. lo! 
The fisherman found it even so, 
And he cried, " How happy we 

shall be! " 
But the woman answered, "We 

shall see! " 
When a day was past, with grow- 
ing pride, 
For regal power the woman sighed ; 
And she bade the fisherman tell 

the fish 
To reign as a king was now her 

wish. 
To mind the dame he was sadly 

loth. 
But he feared the woman when she 

was wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side, 
And softly thus the fisherman 

cried : 
" good flounder in the sea, 
Hither quickly come to me; 
For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer things I fear to 

name." 
Whereat the flounder, swimming 

near, 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here ? ' ' 
And the trembling fisherman an- 
swered thus : 
"My dame is always making a 

fuss; 
She has got a palace great and 

grand. 
And now she asks for royal com- 
mand ! " 
" Go home ! " said the fish, " at the 

palace gate 
You '11 find her a king in royai 

state!" 



180 



HOW THE HAVEN BECAME BLACK. 



He hied him home in haste, and, lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so. 
"Good faith," said he, "'tis a 

charming thing 
To be, like you, a sovereign king. 
With a golden crown upon your 

brow. 
I 'm sure you '11 be contented 

now! " 
" Not T, indeed," the woman said, 
" A triple crown would grace my 

head ; 
And I am worthy, I humbly 

hope. 
Go tell the flounder to make me 

pope! " 
"A pope? my dear, it cannot be 

done ! 
The Church, you know, allows but 

one." 
"Nay, none of your nonsense, 

man," said she, 
"A pope, a pope I am bound to 

be! 
The Prince will find it an easy 

thing 
To make a pope as to make a 

king! " 
To mind the dame he was sorely 

loth, 
But he feared the woman when she 

was wroth; 
So he went again to the ocean-side, 
And thus the fisherman faintly 

cried: 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me, 
For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer things I fear to 

name! " 
Whereat the flounder, swimming 

near. 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here .•* ' ' 
"Alack, alack!" the fisherman 

said, 
"Whatever has turned the wo- 
man's head, 



She is ill-content with royal scope, 
And now, good lack! she would 

fain be pope ! " 
" Go home ! " the flounder gruffly 

cried, 
" And see the end of foolish pride; 
You '11 find her in her hovel again, 
And there, till death, shall she re- 



HOW THE RAVEN BECAME 
BLACK. 

There 's a clever classic story, 
Such as poets used to write, 

(You may find the tale in Ovid,) 
That the Raven once was white. 

White as yonder swan a-sailing 
At this moment in the moat, 

Till the bird, for misbehavior. 
Lost, one day, his snowy coat. 

" Raven-white " was once the say- 

Till an accident, alack ! 
Spoiled its meaning, and thereafter 
It was changed to " Raven- 
black." 

Shall I tell you how it happened 
That the change was brought 
about ? 

List the story of Coronis, 

And you '11 find the secret out. 

Young Coronis, fairest maiden 
Of Thessalia's girlish train. 

Whom Apollo loved and courted. 
Loved and courted not in vain. 

Flirted with another lover 
(So at least the story goes) 

And was wont to meet him slyly, 
Underneath the blushing rose. 



DEATH AND CUPID. 



181 



Whereupon the bird of Phoebus, 
Who their meetings chanced to 
view, 

Went in haste unto his master. 
Went and told him all he knew ; 



Told him how his dear Coronis, 
False and faithless as could be, 

Plainly loved another fellow, — 
If he doubted, come and see ! 



Whereupon Apollo, angry 
Thus to find himself betrayed. 

With his silver bow-and-arrow 
Went and shot the wretched 
maid! 



Now when he perceived her dying. 
He was stricken to the heart. 

And to stop her mortal bleeding, 
Tried his famous healing art. 



But in vain ; the god of Physic 
Had no antidote ; alack ! 

He who took her off so deftly 
Could n't bring the maiden 
back. 



Angry with himself, Apollo, 
Yet. more angry with his bird. 

For a moment stood in silence, 
Impotent to speak a word. 



Then he turned upon the Eaven, 
Wanton babbler ! see thy fate ! 

Messenger of mine no longer. 
Go to Hades with thy prate ! 



" Weary Pluto with thy tattle! 

Hither, monster, come not back; 
And, to match thy disposition. 

Henceforth be thy plumage 
black!" 



When you 're tempted to make 
mischief. 

It is wisest to refuse ; 
People are not apt to fancy 

Bearers of unwelcome news. 



SECOND MORAL. 



Something of the pitch you handle 
On yovir fingers will remain ; 

As the Raven's tale of darkness 
Gave the bird a lasting stain. 



DEATH AND CUPID. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Ah! who but oft hath marvelled 
why 
The gods who rule above 
Should e'er permit the young to 
die. 
The old to fall in love ! 

Ah! why should hapless human- 
kind 
Be punished out of season ? 
Pray listen, and perhaps you 'II 
find 
My rhyme may give the reason. 

Death, strolling out one summer's 

day. 
Met Cupid, with his sparrows ; 
And, bantering in a merry way, 
Proposed a change of arrows. 

" Agreed! " quoth Cupid, " I fore- 
see 
The queerest game of errors ; 



182 



LOVE AND LUCRE. 



For you the King of Hearts will be, 
And I '11 be King of Terrors." 

And so 't was done. Alas the day 
That multiplied their arts ! 

Each from the other bore away 
A portion of his darts, 

And that explains the reason why, 
Despite the gods above, 

The young are often doomed to die. 
The old to fall in love ! 



LOVE AND LUCRE. 



AN ALLEGORY. 

Love and Lucre met one day. 
In chill November weather, 

And so, to while the time away, 
They held discoux'se together. 

Love at first was rather shy, 
As thinking there was danger 

In venturing so very nigh 

The haughty-looking stranger. 

But Lucre managed to employ 

Behavior so potential. 
That, in a trice, the bashful boy 

Grew bold and confidential. 

"I hear," quoth Lucre, bowing 
low, 
" With all your hearts and hon- 
ey, 
You sometimes suffer — is it so ? — 
For lack of ready money." 

Love owned that he was poor in 
aught 
Except in golden fancies, 



And ne'er as yet had given a 
thought 
To mending his finances ; 

" Besides, I 've heard " — so Love 
went on, 
The other's hint improving — 
" That gold, however sought or 
won. 
Is not a friend to loving." 

"An arrant lie! — as you shall 
see, — 
Full long ago invented 
By knaves who know not you nor 
me, 
To tickle the demented." 

And Lucre waved his wand, and 
lo! 

By magical expansion. 
Love saw his little hovel grow 

Into a stately mansion ; 

And where, before, he used to sup 
Untended in his cottage. 

And grumble o'er the earthen cup 
That held his meagre pottage, — 

Now, smoking viands crown his 
board, 

And many a flowing chalice; 
His larder was with plenty stored, 

And beauty filled the palace. 

And Love, though rather lean at 
first. 
And tinged with melancholy, 
On generous wines and pudding* 
nursed. 
Grew very stout and jolly. 

Yet, mindful of his early friend, 
He never turns detractor, 



WISDOM AND CUNNING. 



183 



But prays that blessings may at- 
tend 
His worthy benefactor; 

And when his friends are gay 

above 

Their evening whist or euchre, 

And drink a brimmmg health to 

Love, 

He drinks " Success to Lucre ! " 



WISDOM AND CUNNING. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

As Wisdom one evening was tak- 
ing a stroll, 
Quite out of her usual road, 
She came to a hut, at the foot of a 
knoll, 
Where Selfishness had his abode. 

In this dismal retreat, which, 
within and without. 
Was the shabbiest ever was 
known, 
In a fashion befitting so scurvy a 
lout. 
The miser was living alone. 

She knocked at the door with a 
maidenly rap. 
To inquire concerning the way; 
For in strolling about, by an awk- 
ward mishap, 
Miss Wisdom had wandered 
astray. 

The occupant growled, for the inso- 
lent churl 
Suspected some beggarly kin : 
But, getting a peep at the beauti- 
ful girl. 
He civilly bade her, " Come in ! " 



Alas for the damsel ! was ever be- 
fore 
A maid in so wretched a plight? 
For Selfishness cruelly bolted the 
door, 
And forced her to wed him out- 
right. 



That a couple so mated soon came 
to be foes, 
Of course it is easy to see ; 
For natures so opposite, every one 
knows. 
Could never a moment agree. 



And so it befell that the lady at 
last. 
By pleading deception and force. 
From the infamous marriage that 
bound her so fast. 
Procured an eternal divorce. 



But ere 't was decreed, it 

proper to say, 

A serious mischief was done; 

For it happened one morning,' 

bad luck to the day ! 

The lady gave birth to"^a son. 



An ill-looking urchin as ever was 
born 
(As Cunning the fellow is 
known). 
Whom even his mother regarded 
with scorn. 
And never was willing to own. 



A slight look of Wisdom he bears 

in his face, 

Procures him a deal of respect 

With people too little discerning to 

trace 

The vices which others detect. 



184 



THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. 



For, ever his motives are sordid 
and vile, 
And ever his methods are mean ; 
And thus, in despite of his treach- 
erous smile, 
The mind of the father is seen. 



THE SULTAN AND THE 
OWLS. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 



The Sultan, Mahmoud, in his 
early reign. 
By bootless foreign wars reduced 
the nation. 
Till half his faithful followers were 
slain, 
And all the land was filled with 
desolation. 



The Sultan's Vizier, saddened at 
the heart 
To see at every turn some new 
disaster. 
Essayed in vain, by counsel and 
by art, 
To stay the folly of his royal 
master. 



The Vizier, deeply versed in legal 
lore. 
In state affairs the Sultan's chief 
reliance. 
Had found, besides, some leisure 
to explore 
In learned books the mysteries 
of science. 



With other matters of the graver 
sort, 
He knew to judge men's fancies 
by their features ; 
And understood, according to re- 
port, 
The hidden language of the 
feathered creatures. 



V. 

One pleasant evening, on an aged 
tree. 
The while within a wood the 
twain were walking, 
The Sultan and the Vizier chanced 
to see 
A pair of solemn owls engaged 
in talking. 

VI. 

The Sultan asked: "What is it 
that they say?" 
And fain would know what the 
debate portended ; 
The Vizier answered: " Sire, ex- 
cuse me, pray, 

Highness would be 



I fear your 

much offended 



"Nay," said the Sultan, "what- 
soe'er it be 
These heralds of Minerva may 
be saying, 
Kepeat it. Vizier, faithfully to me ; 
There 's no offence, except in 
not obeying." 



Well," said the other, " these 

sagacious fowls 
Have met, 't would seem, at the 

appointed hour, 



THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. 



185 



To fix their children's wedding; 
and the owls 
Are at this moment talking of 
the dower. 



'The father of the daughter, 
speaking free, 
Says : ' What are your condi- 
tions ? please to state 'em ! ' 
Well, twenty ruined villages,' 

quoth he 
(The father of the son); 'and 
that 's my ultimatum, ! ' 



X. 

" ' Done ! ' says the other, ' only 
understand 
I 'd say two hundred quite as 
soon as twenty ; 
Thanks to good Mahmoud ! while 
he rules the land 
We shall have ruined villages in 
plenty!' " 

XI. 

•T is said the Sultan, stricken with 
remorse, 
Kestored the land reduced by 
war and pillage. 
And ruled so wisely in his future 
course 
That not an owl could find a 
ruined village. 



THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. 

AN APOLOGUE. 



A Pin and Needle in a basket lay. 
Exempt from household labors'; 



And so they fell a-quaiTelling one 
day. 
Like other idle neighbors. 



"Pray, what's the use," th^ 

saucy Pin exclaimed, 

" Of sucii as you, you noddy? 

Before fine ladies you must be 

ashamed 

To show your headless body! " 



" Who cares about your brazen 
little head ? 
I hold it in derision ; 
'T is good for naught," the Needle 
sharply said, 
" Without an eye for vision! " 



" Tut! " said the other, piqued at 
this reply, 
" What profit do you find it, 
When any thread, unless you mind 
your eye, 
Can in a moment blind it? " 



"If," said the Needle, "what you 
say were true, 

I '11 leave it to the Thimble, 
If I am not as bright again as you, 

And twenty times as nimble." 



"Grant," said the Pin, "you 
speak the simple truth. 
Beyond the slightest cavil, 
Yoii '11 die so much the sooner, -> 
in your youth. 
Worn out with toil and travel." 



186 



BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. 



" Fie! " said the Needle, " to my 
Fate I trust ; 
I scorn to be a laggard, 
And live and die, like you, con- 
sumed with rust, 
Misshapen, old, and haggard! " 



Unhappy boaster I for it came to 
pass 
The Needle scarce had spoken. 
When she was taken by an awk- 
ward lass. 
And in the eye was broken ! 



Whereat the Pin (which meets the 
damsel's view) 
Around the neck is threaded, 
And after many struggles to get 
through. 
Is suddenly beheaded ! 



"Well, here we are! " the Needle 
humbly said; 
No more a haughty scorner 
Of the poor Pin who shared her 
lowly bed, — 
A dust-h'eap in the corner. 



"Yes," said the other, thinking of 
the past, 
" I wish in better season 
We might have learned the lesson 
which at last 
Has brought us both to reason ! " 



Friend," said the Needle, "we 

are much like men, — 
Scornful in sunny weather; 



And only mindful they are broth- 
ers when 
They 're in the dirt together! " 



BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIR- 
IES. 

A RABBINICAL TALE. 

Once on a time a stranger came 
At midnight to a wealthy man, — 

Rabbi Ben-ammi was his name, — 
And thus his salutation ran : 

" Rabbi ! I have a child at home 
Who on the morrow's early light 

Is eight days old ; and thou must 
come 
And celebrate the sacred rite." 

Now this Ben-ammi, be it known, 
Though few indeed were rich as 
he. 
With growing wealth, alas! had 
grown 
A miser to the last degree. 

And yet he held, it should be told, 
His office in such pure regard. 

With all his sordid lust of gold. 
He served the poor without re- 
ward. 

So at the word Ben-ammi rose, 
And when the sacred Law was 
read, 

Forth in the night the Rabbi goes. 
To follow where the stranger led. 

The night was dark, and, sooth to 
say, 
The road they trod was rough 
indeed ; 



BEN-AM MI AND THE FAIRIES. 



187 



Yet on and on they took their way, 
Where'er the stranger chose to 
lead. 



At last they reached, towards the 
dawn, 
A rock so huge, within a wood, 
A hundred steeds could not have 
drawn 
The mighty stone from where it 
stood. 



Now mark the wonder that oc- 
curred : 
The stranger touched it with his 
hand, 
Spoke to himself some mystic word, 
And straight it moved from off 
the land ! 

And now the wondering Rabbi 

found 

The earth was open for a space, 

With steps that led beneath the 

ground. 

As if to some mysterious place. 

Descending these with prudent 
care. 
And going far and farther down, 
They reached an open country, 
where 
They found, at length, a peopled 
town. 

Among the houses, large and small, 
There stood a palace vast and 
grand, 

And here, within a spacious hall. 
Were fairy-folks on every hand. 

Now going where the woman lay 
Whose child the sacred rite re- 
quired, 



The stranger bade Ben-ammi stay, 
And, bowing, silently retired. 



"Rabbi, pray listen!" said the 
dame; 
" These people here whom thou 
hast seen 
Thou knowest not except by 
name, — 
The fairy race of Mazakeen. 

" They are not human like our- 
selves 
(For I, indeed, was once of 
earth), 
But queer, uncouth, uncanny elves. 
Who find in mischief all their 
mirth. 



" And yet they have religions too; 

All kinds of creeds, like folks 
above ; 
And he who rules them is a Jew, — 

Mv husband whom 1 dearly love. 



" And hence it was he made so bold 

To bring thee hither in the night, 

That for our babe, now eight davs 

old. 

Thou mayst perform the holy 

rite. 



*' He stole me from the earth away ; 

Of this I do not now complain : 
But listen well to what I say, 

If thou wouldste'er return again. 



"Beware! taste neither food nor 
drink 

Whilst thou art here, on any plea, 
Or in a moment thou wilt sink 

Thy manly form to — what you 



188 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. 



The king returning with his suite, 
The holy rite was duly done, 

And all sat down to drink and eat 
In merry glee, — save only one. 

Ben-ammi (fearing the abuse 
The dame had borne) did not 
partake 
Of bread or wine, but made excuse 
Of three days' fast for con- 
science' sake. 

Whereat the king was moved to 

say, 

"How then shall I reward thy 

task?" 

" Let me return to earth this day, " 

Ben-ammi said ; " 't is all I ask." 

"Nay!" answei-ed he; and led 
him forth 
'Mid heaps of gems and golden 
ore. 
" I would return this day to earth," 
Ben-ammi said; "I ask no 
more! " 

Entering another room, he sees 
(And marvels much, we may 
suppose) 

Along the walls, a thousand keys 
In bunches, hung in rusty rows. 

While gazing at each brazen line, 
Ben-ammi cries, with startled 
tone: 
"This bunch so much resembles 
mine 
That I should take them for my 
own! " 

" Thou sayest well," the king re- 
plied ; 
" They are thine own; 't is here 
I hold 



The keys of men who basely hide. 

And "do not use, their gathered 
gold. 



"Here, take the keys! Hence- 
forth thy heart 

Will melt in pity for the poor; 
And all thou givest will impart 

A double blessing on thy store. 



" Now, wouldst thou go, first shut 
thine eyes," 
Then waves his hand towards 
the dome ; 
Up and away Ben-ammi flies, 
And quickly finds himself at 
home ! 



And from that day Ben-ammi knew 
The use of wealth, and under- 
stood 
(While more and more his riches 
grew) 
The blesst^d art of doing good ! 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER- 
CARRIER. 

A TURKISH TALE. 



"There goes the Vizier and his 
gaudy train ! 
While I, poor Hassan, indigent 
and old. 
Must carry water; well, I can't 
explain 
Why one wears rags, another 
cloth of gold. 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER CARRIER. 



189 



** The single diamond that bedecks 
his sword 
Would set me up a gentleman 
for life ; 
A.nd now, God bless me I I cannot 
afford 
A pair of scarlet trousers for my 
wife! 



"With half the money that his 
servants waste 
Each day in knick-knacks, it is 
very clear 
My family might live like kings, 
and taste 
Roast kid for dinner fifty times 
year. 



"It -may be just; I don't affirm 
't is not; 
Allah is Allah ! and knows what 
is best; 
But if, for mine, I had the Vizier's 
lot, 
'T would please me vastly better, 
I protest! " 



So murmured Hassan, vext within 
himself 
To see the Vizier riding proudly 

hy; 

When suddenly a little fairy elf 
Appeared before him with a 
twinkling eye. 



"Peace!" said the Fairy; "ere 
thy speech begun 
T knew to what thy present 
thoughts incline ; 



Choose any gift thou wilt (but only 
one), 
And, by my kingdom, it shall 
soon be thine!" 



Poor Hassan, filled with joy, at 
once began : 
"I fain would have — " but 
paused before the word 
Escaped his mouth; or, sooth to 
say, the man 
Had named the jewel on the 
Vizier's sword! 



What next he thought to choose 
was all the gold 
That filled the Calirs coffers; 
then he thought 
Of Bagdad's riches; then the 
wealth untold 
Of all the earth, — so fast his 
fancy wrought ! 



Such various wishes thronged his 
teeming brain. 
He pondered long, until the 
Fairy's voice 
Showed some impatience, and the 
man was fain 
From very fear to hasten in hia 
choice. 



But haltinar still when at the point 
to tell 
His final wish, the Fairy kindlv 
told 
(To aid his choosing) of a hidden 
well 
Filled to the brim with jewels 
and with gold. 



190 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. 



XI. 

And then she led him to a secret 
grot, 
Where, underneath a stone, the 
treasure lies. 
Removed the slab that sealed the 
sacred spot, 
And showed tlie riches to his 
wondering eyes. 



" Take what you will of this ex- 
haustless store; 
But, mark you, if you pause to 
dine or sup, 
Your work is finished; you can 
have no more ; 
The stone will move and close 
the coffer up." 

XIII. 

Charmed with the sight that met 
his dazzled gaze, 
He stood enrapt ; then turned to 
thank the fay 
For so much bounty; but, to his 
amaze, 
The nimble sprite unseen had 
fled away. 



Whate'er three ample water-skins 
could hold 
Was soon his own ; but this con- 
tents him not ; 
Unnumbered coins of silver and of 
gold 
Invite his spade, and chain him 
to the spot. 



" Another hour of digging will 
suffice," 
Quoth Hassan, delving with in- 
creasing greed. 



" Well, by the Prophet, here is 
something nice ! 
Rubies and diamonds ! this is 
wealth indeed! " 



And so he dug (rememberinj; the 
hint 
The Fairy gave him) till his busy 
spade 
Had piled a mound so vast, the 
Califs mint 
Could scarce have matched the 
glittering heap he made. 



XVII. 

And yet he toils, as greedy as be- 
fore. 
" A little more! " said Hassan, 
"ere the sun 
Sinks in the west, — some fifty 
shovels more. 
And this day's work, a brave 
one! will be done! " 



Poor Hassan ! heedless of the fading 
day, 
He wrought at night as he had 
wrought at noon ; 
Weary and faint, but impotent to 
stay 
His eager hand beneath the ris- 
ing moon. 

XIX. 

" A little more! " the miser said, 
" and I 
Will make an end." He raised 
his weary hand 
To delve again ; then dropt it with 
a sigh, — 
So weak and worn that he could 
hardly stand. 



THE MILLER AND HIS ADVISERS, 



191 



Fatal Ambition! from his golden 
bed 
He tries in vain to reach the 
giddy height ; 
The shining heap comes tumbling 
on his head, 
And shuts poor Hassan in eternal 
night ! 



THE MILLER AND HIS AD- 
VISERS. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

Of all the fables quaint and old 
ByyEsop or by Plioedrus told, 
For wit or wisdom none surpass 
That of The Miller and his Ass ; 
Which shrewd Malherhe of modern 

France 
Invented, — meaning to advance 
This wholesome truth, for old and 

young, 
(Here rendered in our English 

tongue). 
That one — however cheap the 

price — 
May take too much of ' ' good 

advice." 
A miller, who had thrived so 

well 
That he had got an ass to sell, 
Set forth, one morning, for the fair. 
Attended by his youthful heir, 
While, trudging on with solemn 

mien, 
The precious donkey walked be- 
tween. 
At length they meet upon the 

way 
Some fellows, less polite than gay. 
Who laugh, as if they 'd split their 

sides. 



That neither son nor father rides. 

The hint suffices; in a crack 
The boy bestrides the donkey's 

back. 
When, presently, three merchants 

came 
Along the road, who all exclaim : 
"Get off, you lout! you selfish 

clod, 
To let your aged father plod 
On foot, while you the ass be- 
stride; 
Dismount, and let your father 

ride! " 
The Miller does as they desire, 
Down comes the son, up gets the 

sire, 
And so they go until they meet 
A group of damsels in the street, 
Who, all in chorus, scream and 

shout : 
" For shame! that one so big and 

stout 
Should ride at ease without a care 
About his young and tender 

heir." 
"Gad!" says the Miller, "their 

advice 
Seems mainly wise"; and in a 

trice 
(Though Jack esteems it hardly 

kind) 
He bids the lad get up behind. 

Alas ! the world is hard to suit; 
The Miller now is called a brute 
Bv all he meets upon the road 
Who mark the donkey's double' 

load. 
In sooth, the Miller and his heir 
Were quite as much as he could 

bear. 
And so, at length, the careful twain 
Took up the weary ass amain, 
And, to the mirth of all beholders. 
Bore off the beast upon their 

shoulders. 
Alas! for all the weight they 

bore, 



192 



MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. 



They still were censured, as be- 
fore; 
The captious rabble followed after 
With sneers, and jests, and shouts 

of laughter. 
"The biggest ass," one fellow 

said, 
*' Is clearly not the quadruped! " 
Another mockingly advised 
To have a pet so highly prized 
Kept in the parlor from the cold. 
Or, for a breastpin, set in gold. 
Stunned with the clamor of 
their mirth, 
He drops the donkey to the earth. 



right, 



he 



" Zooks ! they are 
sighs. "Alas! 
'T is clear enough I am an ass. 
As stupid as this shaggy brute. 
Essaying thus all minds to suit 
Egad ! despite each meddling elf, 
I '11 try henceforth to please my- 
self." 



MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. 

A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 

"Whose work is this?" Murillo 
s^id. 
The while he bent his eager 
gaze 
Upon a sketch (a Virgin's head) 
That filled the painter with 
amaze. 

Of all his pupils, — not a few, — 
Marvelling, 't would seem, no 
less than he ; 
Each answered that he nothing 
knew 
As touching whose the sketch 
might be. 



This much appeared, and nothing 
more: 
The piece was painted in the 
night. 
"And yet, by Jove!" Murillo 
swore, 
" He has no cause to fear the 
light. 

" 'T is something crude, and lacks, 
I own. 
That finer finish time will teach ; 
But genius here is plainly shown. 
And art beyond the common 
reach. 



"Sebastian!" (turning to his 
slave,) 
" Who keeps this room when 
I 'm in bed?" 
"'Tis I, Senor." "Now, mark 
you, knave! 
Keep better watch," the mas- 
ter said ; 



" For if this painter comes again, 
And you, while dozing, let him 
slip, 
Excuses will be all in vain, — 
Remember, you shall feel the 
whip!" 



Now while Sebastian slept, he 
dreamed 
That to his dazzled vision 
came 
The Blessed Lady — so she 
seemed — 
And crowned him with the 
wreath of Fame. 



Whereat the startled slave awoke. 
And at his picture wrought 
away 



HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 



193 



So rapt that ere the spell was 
broke, 
The dark was fading into day. 

" My Beautiful ! " the artist cried ; 
"Thank God, I have not lived 
in vain! " 
Hark ! 'T is Murillo at his side ; 
The man has grown a slave 
again. 

" Who is vour master V — answer 
me! " 
" 'T is you," replied the falter- 
ing lad. 
" Nay, 't is not that, I mean," said 
he; 
" Tell me, what teacher have 
you had? " 

" Yourself, Senor. When you 

have taught 

These gentlemen, I too have 

heard 

The daily lesson, and have sought 

To treasure every golden word." 

"What say you, boys?" Murillo 
cried, 
Smiling in sign of fond regard, 
"Is this a case — pray you de- 
cide — 
For punishment, or for re- 
ward? " 

"Reward, Senor!" they all ex- 
claimed, 
And each proposed some costly 
toy; 
But still, whatever gift was named, 
Sebastian showed no gleam of 

joy. 

Whereat one said: "He's kind 
to-day ; 
Ask him your Freedom." With 
a groan 



The boy fell on his knees: "Nay, 



nay! 



My father's freedom, — not my 



"Take both!" the painter cried. 

" Henceforth 
A slave no more, — be thou my 

son. 
Thy Art had failed, with all its 

worth, 
Of what thy Heart this day has 

won! " 



l'envoi 

The traveller, loitering in Seville, 
And gazing at each pictured 
saint. 
May see Murillo' s genius still. 
And learn how well his son 
could paint. 



HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 

The Calif Hassan, — so the tale is 

told, — 
In honors opulent and rich in gold, 
One New Year's Day sat in a 

palm-tree's shade. 
And, on a stone that lay beside 

him, made 
An inventory, — naming one by 

one 
His benefactions; all that he had 

done 
Throughout the year; and thus 

the items ran: 
" Five bags of gold for mosques in 

Ispahan; 
For caravans to Mecca, seven 

more ; 
For amulets to pious people, four ; 
Three for the Kamazan; and two 

to pay 
The holy dervishes, who thrice a 

day 



194 



HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 



In prayer besought the safety of 

my soul ; 
Itein, one loaf of bread, a weekly 

dole 
To a poor widow with a sickly 

child." 
The Calif read the reckoning o'er, 

and smiled 
With conscious pleasure at the 

vast amount, 
"When, lo ! a hand sweeps over the 

account. 

With sudden anger, Hassan looked 

around, 
And saw an angel standing on the 

ground, 



With wings of gold, and robe of 

purest white. 
" I am God's messenger, em- 
ployed to write 
Within this book the pious deeds 

of men; 
I have revised thy reckoning: 

look again." 
So to the man the angel spake 

aloud, 
Then slowly vanished in a rosy 

cloud. 
The Calif, looking, saw upon tha 

stone 
The final item standing thera 

alone. 



FABLES AND LEGENDS 
OF MANT COUNTEIES, 

RENDERED IN RHYME 



TO 

MY THEEE DAUGHTEES 

SC^ts SLtttU Book 

IS 

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



I 



FABLES AND LEGENDS 
OF MANY COUNTRIES. 



LOVE AND JOY. 

AN ALLEGORT. 

Long, long ago, ere Sin had come 
To make the earth forlorn, 

Somewhere, within an Eastern 
home, 
Two pretty babes were born. 

The younger was a maiden fair; 

The elder was a boy ; 
And, for their names, the infant 
pair 

Were christened Love and Joy. \ 

And as they grew in years and 
strength, 

Together they would rove 
As merry mates, until at length 

Joy seemed the twin of Love ! 

And so, at length, it came to pass 
That all the neighbors said, 

Some happy day the lad and lass 
Were certain to be wed. 

In sooth, such happy mates they 
seemed. 
And so attached at heart, — 
The pretty pair, — who would have 
deemed 
That they would ever part ? 

But so it fell; alas, the wrong! 
And woe betide the day 



That Sin, the monster ! came along 
And frightened Joy away ! 

And so poor Love, when Joy had 
flown. 

Since he could not abide 
To live unwedded and alone, 

Took Sorrow for his bride ; 

As sad a bride as e'er was seen 
To grace a man*iage-bed ; 

With scowling brow and murky 
mien, 
And cypress round her head. 

And to the twain a child was born, 
That bore of each a part, — 

The mother's countenance forlorn. 
The father's tender heart. 



"P^i^/," they called her, 
child; 



gentle 



And from her infant days 
Her voice was ever sweet and mild. 
And winning were her ways. 

And once, ere she had learned to 
walk, 

While in her cradle-nest, 
A dove, that fled the cruel hawk. 

Sought safety on her breast. 

The robin-redbreast came to seek 
A home where Pity dwelt; 

And alt things timoi-ous and weak 
Her kind compassion felt. 



200 



THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. 



Ab, sweet, sad face! her mixed 
descent 
Was shown in her attire, 
And with the mother's cypress 
blent 
The myrtle of her sire. 

And ever since to woman's height 
The maiden grew, she roams 

Through all the world, an angel 
bright. 
To gladden human homes. 

Her office still to follow where 
Her mother's feet have strayed. 

And soothe and heal, with tender 
care. 
The wounds the dame has made. 

But both are mortal, sages write. 
And so they both must die; 

Sorrow, at last, will cease to smite. 
And Pity cease to sigh. 

And then will Joy return, tbey say. 
From Heaven, where she had 
flown, 

And Love, forever and for aye, 
Be married to his own. 



THE 



TWO CHURCH-BUILD- 
ERS. 

AN ITALIAN LEGEND. 



A FAMOUS king would build a 
church, 
A temple vast and grand ; 
And, that the praise might be his 
own. 
He gave a strict command 



That none should add the smallest 
gift 
To aid the work he planned. 

And when the mighty dome was 
done, 
Within the noble frame, 
Upon a tablet broad and fair, 

In letters all aflame 
With burnished gold, the people 
read 
The royal builder's name. 

Now when the King, elate with 
pride, 

That night had sought his bed, 
He dreamed he saw an angel come, 

(A halo round his head,) 
Erase the royal name, and write 

Another in its stead. 



What could it mean ? Three times 
that night 

That wondrous vision came ; 
Three times he saw that angel hand 

Erase the royal name, 
And write a woman's in its stead, 

In letters all aflame. 

Whose could it be? He gave com- 
mand 

To all about his throne 
To seek the owner of the name 

That on the tablet shone; 
And so it was the courtiers found 

A widow poor and lone. 

The King, enraged at what he 
heard. 
Cried, " Bring the culprit here ! " 
And to the woman trembling sore 

He said, " 'T is very clear 
That you have broken my com- 
mand; 
Now let the truth appear! " 



THE WIND AND THE ROSE. 



201 



• Your Majesty,*' the Widow said, 
" I can't deny the truth ; 

I love the Lord, — my Lord and 
yours, — 
And so, in simple sooth, 

I broke your Majesty's command, 
(I crave your royal ruth !) 

" And since I had no money, Sire, 
Why, I could only pray 

That God would bless your Maj- 
esty; 
And when along the way 

The horses drew the stones, I gave 
To one a wisp of hay ! " 



"Ah! now I see," the King ex- 
claimed, 

" Self-glory was my aim; 
The woman gave for love of God, 

And not for worldly fame ; 
'T is my command the tablet bear 

The pious widow's name! " 



THE WIND AND THE ROSE. 

AN APOLOGUE. 



A LITTLE red Rose bloomed all 
alone 
In a hedge by the highway side; 
And the Wind came by with a 
pitying moan. 
And thus to the floweret cried: 



" You are choked with dust from 
the sandy ledge ; 
Now see what a friend can do ! 



1 will pierce a hole in the tangled 
hedge 
And let the breeze come 
through." 



"Nay, let me be, I am well 

enough! " 

Said the Rose in deep dismay ; 

But the Wind is always rude 'and 

rough, 

And of course he had his way. 



And the breeze blew soft on tno 
little red Rose ; 
But now she was sore dfraid, 
Fot the naughty boy^ her an- 
cient foes , 
Came through where the gap 
was made. 



"I see," said the Wind, when he 
came again. 
And looked at the trembling 
flower, 
'■• You are out of place ; it is very 
plain 
You are meant for a lady's 
bower." 

VI. 

" Nay, let me be ! " said the shud- 
dering Rose; 
" No sorrow I ever had known 
Till you came here to break my 
repose ; 
Now, please to let me alone! " 



But the will of the Wind is strong 
as death. 
And little he recked her cries ; 



202 THE BEAi 

He plucked her up with his mighty 
breath. 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 



breath, 
And away to the town he flies 



VIII. 

O, all too rough was the windy 
ride, 

For a Rose so weak and small ; 
And soon her leaves on every side 

Began to scatter and fall. 



IX. 

'Now, what is this?" said the 
wondering Wind, 

As the Rose in fragments fell ; 
' This paltry stem is all I find, — 

I am sure" I meant it well ! V 



"It means just this: that a med- 
dling friend," 
Said the dying stalk, " is sure 
To mar the matter he aimed to 
mend. 
And kill where he meant to 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 

A GERMAN LEGEND. 



Go seaward, son, and bear a 

light!" 
Up spoke the sailor's wife; 
'Thy father sails this stormy 

night 
In perS of his life ! 



"His ship that sailed to foreign 
lands 

This hour may heave in sight. 
0, should it wreck upon the sands 1 

Go, son, and bear a light! " 



He lights a torch, and seaward goes ; 

Naught boots the deed, I doubt. 
The rain it rains, the wind it blows ; 

And soon the light goes out. 



The boy comes back: " mother 
dear. 

Bid me not go again ; 
No torch can live, 't is very clear, 

Before the wind and rain ! " 



"No sailor's blood hast thou, I 
trow, 
To fear a stormy night ; 
Let rains descent!, let tempests 
blow. 
Go, son, and bear a light! " 



Once more he lights the torch, and 
goes 

Toward the foaming main. 
The rain it rains, the wind it blows ; 

Out goes the torch again ! 



VII. 

The boy comes back: " mother 
dear. 
The storm puts out the light ; 
The night is drear, and much J 
fear 
The woman dressed in white ! " 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 



203 



"No sailor's blood hast thou, I 
trow, 
To tremble thus before 
A mermaid's face. Take heart of 
grace, 
And seek again the shore ! " 



The boy comes back: " mother 
dear, 

Go thou unto the strand ; 
My father's voice I sure did hear 

In tones of stern command! " 



And now the mother lights the 
torch, 
And, see ! the kindling rays 
Have caught the thatch ! from roof 
to porch 
The hut is all ablaze ! 



" What hast thou done ? " the ur- 
chin cries ; 
" piteous sight to see ! 
Cold is the night; wretched 
plight! 
Nor house nor home have we ! " 



"No sailor's blood hast thou, I 
wis. 

When torches fail to burn, 
A blazing hovel — such as this — 

May serve as good a turn ! " 



Joy to the sailor ! see ! he clears 
The shoals on either hand, 

Thanks to the light ! and now he 
steers 
In safety to the land ! 



KING EKIC'S TRIUMPH. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SEIDL. 



At Upsala's high altar, 
The tallest in the land. 

And bright with blazing candles, 
See royal Eric stand. 

And thus he speaks to Heaven, 
With lifted voice and hand : 



" Great God! in Thy protection 

We ever safely dwell ; 
Who makes the Lord his refuge 

Hath wisely done and well." 
And hark ! the lofty anthem 

The choir and organ swell. 



Now while the dome is sounding 
With this triumphant strain, 

In comes a panting courier, 
" King ! the Dane ! the Dane! 

Skalater and his soldiers 
Are pouring on the plain ! " 



IV. 

But as on ears unheeding 
The startling message fell; 

King Eric still is chanting. 
While choir and organ swell, 

" Who makes the Lord his refuge 
Hath wisely done and well! " 



In bursts another courier, 
Hot messenger of Fate, — 

" The Dane ! the Dane approaches ! 
King, no longer wait ! 



204 



THE BRAHMIN'S AIR- CASTLE. 



Fly ! seek some surer refuge ; 
The Dane is at the gate i" 



What though a hundred voices 

The tale of terror tell? 
King Eric still is chanting, 

While choir and organ swell, 
" Who makes the Lord his refuge 

Hath wisely done and well! " 



In comes another courier, 
But ere his voice he found 

To tell his tale of horror, 
He feels a mortal wound ; 

Beneath a Danish sabre, 
His head is on the ground. 



Then rose a fearful clamor, 
That drowned the Danish drums : 

" With seven hundred soldiers. 
The fiend, Skalater, comes ! 

Where now are king and country, 
Our altars and our homes?" 



'T was then the pious monarch 
(As holy books declare) 

Took up the golden crucifix. 
And waved it in the air. 

And called upon the God of Hosts 
In agonizing prayer. 



And from the seven sacred wounds 
(One for each bleeding gash 

That in his death the Saviour bore) 
Came forth a blinding flash ; 

In splendor full a hundred-fold, 
The heathen to abash. 



XI. 

Whereat seven hundred Danish 
men 

In humble worship fell; 
While Eric and his people all 

The solemn anthem swell, 
" Who makes the Lord his refuge 

Hath wisely done and well! " 



THE BEAHMIN'S 
TLE. 



AIK-CAS- 



A HINDOO FABLE. 

A BRAHMIN, haughty, indolent, 

and poor. 
Entered, one day, a potter's open 

door. 
And, lying lazily upon the ground 
Among the earthen-ware that stood 

around 
In stately pyramids, at length be- 
gan 
To think aloud ; and thus his fan^ 

cies ran : 
" With these small coins within my 

pocket, 1 
Some pieces of this useful wai*e 

will buy. 
Which, at a profit, I will sell, and 

then 
Will purchase more ; and, turning 

this again 
In the same fashion, I will buy and 

sell 
Until my growing trade will thrive 

so well 
That I shall soon be rich; so rich, 

indeed. 
That I can buy whatever I may 

need 
For use or luxury. And first of all 



REASON AND VANITY. 



205 



I '11 build a mansion, very grand 

and tall; 
And then, of course, as suits a man 

of taste, 
I '11 have four wives, all beautiful 

and chaste. 
But one in beauty will excel the 

rest, 
And her, 't is certain, I shall love 

the best; 
Whereat the others (I foresee it) 

will 
Be jealous, and behave extremely 

ill; 
Whereat, as they deserve, I shall 

be quick 
To beat the vixens well with this 

good stick." 
And in his revery the fellow struck 
Among the pots and pans, (woe 

worth the luck ! ) 
With so much force they fell, and 

all around 
His foolish head the pieces strewed 

the gi-ound. 
So fell the Brahmui's castle in the 

air; 
And, further still, to make the 

matter square. 
And mend the damage done that 

luckless day. 
With all he had, the potter made 

him pay. 

L' ENVOI. 

This clever Hindoo fable, which 
(I 'm told 

By grave savans) is many centu- 
ries old. 

Bears its own moral, plain as any 
print; 

And furnishes, besides, a lively 
hint 

Whence came that very charming 
modern tale, 

"The Country Maiden and her 
MUking-Pail ! " 



REASON AND VANITY. 



AN APOLOGUE. 

"Appeal to Reason!" writes a 

sage 
Whose book, on many a glowing 

page, 
Would teach the reader to control 
The workings of the human soul. 
The plan, no doubt, is often wise. 
But, should it fail, let me advise 
('T is safe to try it!) an appeal 
The hardest heart is sure to feel ; 
When Reason turns away her ear. 
Who knows but Vanity may hear ? 
As Chloe stood, one summer's 

day, — 
Young, giddy, handsome, vain, and 

gay. — 

Before her mirror, and essayed 
Her native charms by art to aid, 
A vagrant bee came buzzing round, 
And Chloe, frightened at the sound. 
Cried, "Mary, help! Go, Lizzie, 

fetch 
A broom and kill the little 

wretch! " 
Too late! despite the bustling 

maids. 
The wanton imp at once invades 
Poor Chloe' s lip, — the saucy 

thing ! 
And fixes there his ugly sting. 
The culprit caught, the maids pre- 
pare 
To kill the monster then and there ; 
When, trembling for his life, the 

Bee 
Makes this extenuating plea: 
"Forgive! beauteous queen, 

forgive 
My sad niistake ; for, as I live. 
Your mouth (I 'm sorry. Goodness 

knows!) 
I surely took it for a rose ! " 
" Poor insect! " Chloe sighed, "I 

vow 



206 



HOW n CHANCED 



'"T were very hard to kill him 

now, 
No harm the little fellow meant, 
And then he seems so penitent; 
Besides, the pain was very small, 
I scarcely feel it now at all! " 



WHO SHALL SHUT THE 
DOOR? 



FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

To-morrow is St. Martin's day, 

And Goody, loving elf, 
Has baked some puddings for her 
man. 

And put them on the shelf. 

Now both are lying snug in bed, 
And while the west-winds roar 

Old Gaffer unto Goody says, 
" Go, shut that slamming door ! " 

" I wish to rest," the dame replies, 
" Till morning's light appears; 

For aught 1 care, that crazy door 
May slam a hundred years ! ' ' 

With this the loving pair agreed 
(Since neither of them stirred) 

That he, or she, should bolt the 
door 
Who first should speak a word ! 

Two vagabonds, at midnight, 
found 

The door was off the latch, 
And not a single sight or sound 

Their eyes or ears could catch. 

They entei*ed in, and spoke aloud. 
But no one answered. Why V 



The bargain stopped the only 
mouths 
That could have made reply! 

The puddings soon were eaten up, 
As Goody plainly heard. 

And cursed the robbers in her 
heart, 
But uttered not a word. 

And soon one vagabond exclaims, 

" I 'd like a sip of gin; 
This cupboard smells extremely 
nice, 

I '11 poke about within. 

"A flask of schnapps, I 'm very 
sure, 

Is at my elbow here ; 
A hearty swig, to thirsty souls, 

Is mighty pleasant cheer! " 

Up sprang old Gaffer in a trice : 
" Hein! what is that you say? 

The man who steals my Holland 
schnapps 
Shall dearly rue the day ! " 

Off go the rogues, and Goody cries. 
With something like a roar, 

" Old Gaffer, vou have spoken 
first ! 
Now go and bolt the door! " 



HOW IT CHANCED. 



AN ORIENTAL APOLOGUE. 



Dame Nature, when her work 
was done, 
And she had rested from crea' 
tion. 



ffOW IT CHANCED. 



207 



Called up her creatures, one by- 
one, 
To fix for each his life's duration. 



II. 

The ass came first, but drooped 
his ears 
On learning that the dame in- 
tended 
That he should bear for thirty- 
years 
His panniers ere his labor ended. 



So Nature, like a gentle queen 
(The story goes), at once re- 
lented. 
And changed the thirty to eighteen. 
Wherewith the ass was well con- 
tented. 



The dog came next, but plainly said 
So long a life could be but hate- 
ful; 
So Nature gave him twelve instead. 
Whereat the dog was duly grate- 
ful. 



Next came the ape; but Nature, 
when 
He grumbled, like the dog and 
donkey. 
Instead of thirty gave him ten, 
Which quite appeased the angry 
monkey. 



At last came man ; how brief ap- 
pears 
The term assigned, for work or 
pleasure ! 



"Alas!" he cried, "but thirty 
years ? 
Nature, lengthen out the meas- 
ure! " 

vn. 

"Well then, I give thee eighteen 
more 
(The ass's years); art thou con- 
tented?" 
" Nay," said the beggar, "I implore 
A longer term." The dame con- 
sented. 



VIII. 

" I add the dog's twelve years be- 
side." 
" 'T is not enough ! " " For thy 
persistence, 
I add ten more," the dame replied, 
" The period of the ape's exist- 
ence." 



And thus of man's threescore and 
ten. 
The thirty years at the beginning 
Are his of right, and only then 
He wins whate'er is worth the 
winning. 



Then come the ass's eighteen years, 
A weary space of toil and trouble. 

Beset with crosses, cares, and fears. 
When joys grow less, and sor- 
rows double. 



XI. 

The dog's twelve years come on, at 
length, 
When man, the jest of every 
scomer. 



208 



THE THREE MASKS. 



Bereft of manhood's pride and 
strength, 
Sits growhng, toothless, in a 
comer. 

XII. 

At last, the destined term to fill. 
The ape's ten years come lagging 
after, 
And man, a chattering imbecile, 
Is but a theme for childish laugh- 
ter. 



THE THREE MASKS. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF HARING. 
I. 

Upon the monarch's brow no shade 

is shown ; 
The royal purple hides the bloody 

throne ; 
He calls his vassals all, — the man 

of sin, — 
" Bring forth the maskers ! let the 

dance begin!" 



The music sounds, and every face 

is glad, — 
All save the King's, and that is 

something sad ; 
And, lo! three snow-wJdte masks 

are passing now, 
And dark clouds gather on the 

monarch's brow. 

III. 

In robes of red the maskers now 

are seen. 
And black as midnight is the royal 

mien. 



In sable mantles next the three 

appear. 
And the king's face is white with 

sudden fear. 



And now before the throne, with 

deep dismay, 
He sees three grinning skulls in 

grim array ; 
Whereat he falls in terror from his 

throne ! 
The masks have fled, and left him 

there alone. 



He calls his vassals: "Let each 
villain bare 

His visage!" No, no juggling 
rogue is there! 

He calls his page: "Now, fellow, 
get thee gone. 

And bring the Soothsayer ere to- 
morrow's dawn! " 



" Go tell the King," the Wise Man 

made reply, 
* ' He sends too late. God answers 

him, not I ! 
When mortals look on visions such 

as this. 
Their own hearts tell them what 

the meaning is. 



VII. 

"The first skull," quoth the rer- 

'erend Sage, " declares 
How rank corruption rules the 

king's affairs; 
The second says, ' Since corpses 

pi-op thy throne. 
Mankind shall gaze with horror on 

thine own ! ' 



THE GHOST IN ARMOR. 



209 



VIII. 

" The third proclaims that who- 
soe'er has seen 

The other twain, before the morrow 
e'en 

Shall be the like himself! Beware, 
I say, 

Beware the sable maskers in the 
play!" 

IX. 

Swift flies, at morn, the panting 

page to bring 
The fearful message to the waiting 

king; 
White lies the monarch in his 

robes of ref/, 
On a. black bier; for lo! the king 

is dead ! 



THE GHOST IN ARMOR. 



A LEGEND OF ST. MICHAEL'S EVE. 



PART FIRST. 

Sir Walter De Guyon is surly 

and sad. 
There 's trouble a-brewing, I 

think ; 
The Steward is certain Sir Walter 

is mad, 
And the Butler declares, "He is 

took very bad, — 
This morning he doubled his 

drink! " 

And why is he ranting and raving, 
I "pray, 
And calling hi3 daughter such 
names ? 
14 



He stands by the Green in the 

sturdiest way; 
And Alice has mounted the Orange 

to-day, 
And laughed at the runaway 

James ! 



And then Sir Walter has heard be- 
side. 
From one of his vigilant spies, 
How Alice his daughter, his dar- 
ling and pride. 
With yoiing De Ruyter, last even- 
ing, was spied, — 
You may guess at the knight's 
surprise ! 

Beneath the casement the maiden 

was seen. 

With this gay gallant at her feet; 

Holding her hand his own between, 

And calling her "love," and 

"life," and "queen," 

With kisses many and sweet ! 



De Ruyter, — a captain of Wil- 
liam's band; 
And counted a worthy scion 
Of an ancient house in the Dutch- 
man's land ; 
But what is he to offer his hand 
To one of the race De Guyon ? 

De Ruyter, — "a squire of low 
degree," 
And an anti-Jacobite war-man ; 
And what is he. whoever he be, 
To match his de with the mighty 
De 
That was known before " the 
Norman " ? 



The saucy varlet! " Sir Walter 

said { 
" The fellow deserves to swing; 



210 



THE GHOST IN ARMbR. 



Before my castle to show his head ! 
I '11 serve the dog as I 'd like in- 
stead 
To serve his villanous king! " 

In vain the maiden bemoans his 
fate; 

Already the fierce Sir Walter 
Has set his guards at every gate. 
He is fain to fly, but all too late; 

He is doomed to feel the halter. 

There 's a dismal cell, a dungeon, 
in sooth, 
Hard by the banqueting-room, 
(Sir Walter de Gixyon has little 

ruth,) 
And there, alas! the venturous 
youth, 
De Ruyter, is waiting his doom. 

Sir Walter de Guyon is rather elate 

At the capital job he has done ; 

So he summons his friends, the 

small and the great. 
To come and assist at an elegant 
fete, 
Devoted to feasting and fun. 



PART SECOND. 

They are eating and drinking with 
glee, 

The guests at this notable feast ; 
Lords, nobles of every degree, 
All merry as merry can be, 

With fifty retainers at least. 

In the midst of the revelry rose 
Sir Walter de Gu3fon to say, 
" You all are aware, I suppose, 
'T is St. Michael's evening," — 
but shows 
Some symptoms of fainting 
away. 



A bottle of Burgundy stood 

By chance in the orator's reach, 

Which drinking as well as he could. 

And swearing the tipple was good. 

Sir Walter went on with his 

speech. 

" 'T was this very night, as you 
know, 

My ancestor, once on a time, 
As sundry old chronicles show 
('T was ages and ages ago), 

Committed a horrible crime. 

"A black-armored knight, it is 
told. 
Who slept in a neighboring room, 
Was murdered ('t was thought for 

his gold), — 
The room which now happens to 
hold 
The Dutchman awaiting his 
doom. 

" My ancestor noised it about. 

The minions of Justice to blind, 
That the stranger arose and went 

out; 
But he never could settle the doubt 
Why the man left his armor be- 
hind. 

" Belike you have heard it be- 
fore, — 

The credulous peasants believe 
His ghost, in the armor he wore. 
Comes stalking abroad, as of yore, 

On every St. Michael his Eve." 

" What think you ? " he laughingly 
said, 
" Perhaps we may see him to- 
night; 
As often in books we have read — " 
Ah ! sees he the ghost of the dead V 
Why blanches Sir Walter with 
fright? 



THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 



21 



What meaneth that terrible din, 
Like the sound of a bursting 
door V 
See ! black as the angel of sin, 
The Ghost in the Armor comes in. 
And marches across the floor ! 

Aghast at the horrible sight, 
Down, down they tumble, and 
lay 
Spent with terror and fright. 
Through all that tei-rible night. 
Quite into the following day ! 

Now where is De Ruyter, I pray, 
And Alice V (she 's vanished from 
sight ! ) 
There 's a letter from London to say 
The lovers had ridden away 

On a saddle and pillion that 
night. 

His manner of leaving, of course. 

His own reprobation had earned ; 
He owned he was full of remorse 
Concerning the armor and horse. 
But both should be quickly re- 
turned. 

And with her good father's con- 
sent. 
That is, should he kindly invite 
her, 
It was Alice's settled intent 
To make him a visit in Lent, 
Along with her own De Ruyter! 



THE KING AND THE PEAS- 
ANT. 

A SICILIAN TALE. 

There lived a man who, from his 

youth, 
Was known to all as '* Peasant 

Truth," 



Because 't was said he 'd sooner 

die 
Than tell or hint the smallest lie. 
Now, when it happened that the 

King 
Had heard, at last, this wondrous 

thing. 
He bade the peasant come and 

keep 
The royal flock of goats and sheep, 
(To wit, — one goat, a little lamb, 
A fine bell-wether, and a ram.) 
And once a week he went to court 
To see the King, and make report 
How fared the flock, and truly tell 
If each were doing ill or well ; 
Whereat the King was well con- 
tent. 
And home the happy peasant went. 
At last, a wicked courtier — struck 
With envy at his neighbor's luck — 
Essayed to put him in disgrace, 
And gain himself the peasant's 

place. 
" Think you, good Sire, in very 

sooth. 
He never lies, — this Peasant 

Truth? 
He '11 lie next Saturday," he said, 
•' Or, for a forfeit, take my head!" 
" So be it! and I '11 lose my own," 
The King replied, " if it be shown. 
With all the arts that you may 

try, 
That Peasant Truth can tell a 

lie!" 
And now the wicked courtier fain 
Some trick would try his end to 

gain. 
But still he failed to find a plan 
To catch at fault the honest man, 
Until at last, in sheer despair, 
He told his wife (a lady fair 
As one in all the world could find. 
And cunning, like all womankind) 
About the wager he had made. 
And all the case before her laid. 
" And is that all ? " the woman said, 



212 



THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 



Tossing in scorn her handsome 

head ; 
'* Leave all to me, and never doubt 
That what you wish I '11 bring 

about!" 
Next day the crafty dame was 

seen, 
Apparelled like a very queen. 
And on her brow a diamond star, 
That like a meteor blazed afar, 
Approaching where the peasant 

stood 
Among his flock. "Now, by the 

Kood! " 
He cried, amazed, "but she is 

fair 
And beautiful beyond compare! " 
Then, bowing to the earth, quoth 

he, 
" What may your Highness want 

with me ? 
Whate'er you ask, I swear to 

grant! " 
"Ah!" sighed the lady, "much 

I want 
Some roasted wether, else shall I 
(Such is my longing!) surely die!" 
"Alas!" he said, "just this one 

thing 
I cannot do. I serve the King, 
Who owns the wether that you 

see. 
And if I kill him, woe is me! " 
Alack the day for Peasant Truth ! 
His tender soul was moved to 

ruth; 
For, weeping much, and saying 

stiU 
That she should die, she had her 

will, 
And of roast wether took her 

fill! 
" Ah! " sighed the man when she 

was gone, 
" Alas ! the deed that I have done ! 
To kill the sheep ! What shall I 

say 
When I am asked, next Saturday, 



* How fares the wether ? ' I will 

tell 
His Majesty the sheep is well. 
No, that won't do ! I '11 even say 
A thief has stolen him away. 
No, that won't answer. I will 

feign 
Some prowling wolf the sheep has 

slain. 
No, that won't do ! Ah ! how can I 
Look in his face and tell a lie? " 
Now when the peasant came to 

court 
On Saturday, to make report, 
As was his wont, the King began 
His questioning ; and thus it ran : 
"How is my goat? I prithee 

tell!" 
" The goat, your Majesty, is well !" 
" And how 's my ram ? " " Good 

Sire, the ram 
Is well and frisky." " How 's my 

lamb?" 
"He's well and beautiful, in 

sooth." 
" And how 's my wether. Peasant 

Truth?" 
Whereat he answered, " my 

King, 
I hate a lie like — anything. 
When on the mountain-side afar 
I saw the lady with the star, 
M}' soul was dazzled with her 

beauty, 
And I forgot my loyal duty. 
And when she asked for wether's 

meat, 
I killed the sheep, that she might 

eat." 
"Good!" said the King, "my 

wager 's won ! 
This grievous wrong that you have 

done, 
My truthful peasant, I forgive; 
In health and wealth long may you 

live! 
While this, your enemy, instead. 
Shall justly lose his foolish head." 



THE KING'S FAVORITE. 



213 



THE TRAVELLER AND HIS 
FRIENDS. 

A GALLIC LEGEND. 

A GENTLEMAN, about to make 
A trip at sea, was begged to take 
Commissions for a dozen friends : 
One wants a watch ; another sends 
For wine, — "A very special cask ; 
And — if it 's not too much to 

ask- 
Some choice cigars ; a box will do; 
Or, while you 're at it, purchase 

two." 
Another friend would like a pair 
Of boots, — " They 're so much 

cheaper there " ; 
A lady friend would have him buy 
Some laces, — "If thev 're not too 

high"; 
Another wants a box of gloves, — 
" French kids, you know, are real 

loves! " 
Thus one wants this ; another, that ; 
A book, a bonnet, or a hat ; 
Enough to make the moody man 
(So high their "small commis- 
sions " ran 
In tale and bulk) repent that he 
Had ever thought to cross the sea ! 
Moreover, — be it here re- 
marked, — 
Before the gentleman embarked. 
His friends, for fear he might forget 
Their little errands, plainly set 
Their wishes down in black and 

white; 
A sensible proceeding — quite ; 
But, as it happened, not a friend 
(With one exception) thought to 

send 
The ready money, and to say, 
" See, here 's the cash you '11 have 
to pay." 
The man' embarks; sees Paris, 
Rome, 
And other cities ; then comes hom© 



Well pleased with much that met 

his eye ; 
But having, somehow, failed to buy 
A single thing for any friend. 
Except the one who thought to send 
The wherewithal. Well, need 1 

say 
That soonhis neighbors cametopay 
Their greeetings at his safe retura. 
And charming health; and (also) 

learn 
About their little errands, — what 
For each the traveller had got? 
" By Jove! " he said, " it makes 

me sad 
To think what wretched luck I 

had! 
For as at sea I sat one day 
Arranging in a proper way 
The papers you so kindly sent, 
A gale arose, and oft' they went 
Into the ocean ; nor could I 
Remember aught you bade me 

buy." 
" But,"' grumbled one, " if that 

were so. 
How comes it, sir, you chanced to 

know 
What this man's errand was? for 

he 
Has got what he desired, we see." 
"Faith! so he has, — beyond a 

doubt ; 
And this is how it came about: 
His memorandum chanced to hold 
A certain sura of solid gold; 
And thus the paper by its weight 
Escaped the others' windy fate," 



THE KING'S FAVORITE. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A SHEPHERD who was wont to kee^ 
With so much care his flock of 
sheep, 



214 



THE KING'S FAVORITE. 



That not a man in all the plains 
Could show the like in fleecy- 
gains, 
Was noticed by the King; who 

said, 
" One who so long has wisely led 
His woolly charge must surely be 
A proper man to oversee 
A nobler fiock ; I make thee, then, 
A magistrate, — to govei'n men ! " 
"What," mused the sheplierd, 

"shall I do? 
A hermit and a wolf or two 
My whole acquaintance constitute 
(Except my sheep) of man or 

brute!" 
His reason bade the clown decide 
Against the place; not so his 

pride. 
Ambition's plea at last prevails. 
And lo! the shepherd takes the 

scales. 
Soon as his hermit-neighbor 

heard 
What to the shepherd had occurred, 
His honest mind he thus expressed : 
" 'T is surely but a royal jest. 
To make of thee, who never saw 
A written page of statute law, 
Chief Justice of the realm ! I deem 
The tale is false, or do I dream ? 
Ah ! princely gifts are fatal things ; 
Beware, I say, — beware of 

kings I " 
The shepherd listens, but the 

while 
His only answer is a smile. 
As one whose happiness provokes 
The envy of inferior folks. 
" Alas ! " the hermit cried, " I see 
The fabled wagoiier in thee. 
Who lost his whip, and by mistake 
Took up instead a torpid snake, 
That, warming in his fingers, stung 
The foolish hand to which it clung, 
A mortal bite; do thou, my friend, 
Beware the like unhappy end ! " 
And soon indeed the favorite found 



The hermit's plain advice was 

sound. 
The Judge, although he did his 

best. 
Was most unequal to the test ; 
His judgments, set in legal light, 
Were quite as often wrong as right ; 
And, worst of all, ai-ound him 

rose 
A crowd of envious, spiteful foes. 
Who, one and all, contrive to 

bring 
The blackest slanders to the King, 
Who hears, amazed, the story told 
Of justice daily bought and sold. 
Indeed, his enemies declare 
"His Honor" takes the lion's 

share, 
And with the fruit of bribes alone 
Has built a palace of his own. 

The King, astounded at his guilt. 
Would see the palace he had built ; 
And finds, when all his search is 

done, 
A modest house of wood and stone. 
He opens next the fabled box 
Where, fast beneath a dozen locks, 
The Judge's fixmous jewels lie; 
But nothing meets the royal eye 
Except a shepherd's coat and cap 
(The former rent in many a gap). 
And — to reward his further look — 
A shepherd's rusty pipe and crook. 
" treasure precious to ray eyes ! " 
The Judge exclaims, "from thee 

arise 
No hateful cares, nor envious lies. 
These I resume, and learn, though 

late, 
Whoe'er aspires to serve the state 
Should first consider well the case. 
If he is equal to the place; 
And long reflect, before he makes 
That most egregious of mis- 
takes, — 
One's true vocation weakly 

spurned. 
To serve a trade he never learned." 



THE MERCHANT. 



215 



THE MERCHANT. 



A MERCHANT once, whom Fortune 

plied 
With favors rare on every side, 
Orew rich apace; his ships were 

safe 
Though storms might rave and 

breakers chafe ; 
To every cHme his bending sails 
Were wafted by propitious gales; 
While others, good and brave as 

he. 
And no less wise on land or sea, 
With varying fortunes often tried 
The fierce domain of wind and 

tide, 
And paid, sometimes, a goodly 

freight 
In tribute to the Ocean-Fate. 
No hidden reef, nor sudden squall. 
Nor deadly calm, most feared of 

all, 
Had e'er consigned his vessels' 

store 
To ccral grove or rocky shore. 
And more than this (so, it is known. 
Fate, when she will, can guard her 

own), 
No agent proved an arrant knave. 
No master found a watery grave. 
No trusted clerk defaulter turned. 
No partner stole what both had 

earned, 
Nor market of a sudden fell 
Just when his factor wished to 

sell. 



In short, his wines, tobaccos, teas. 
Silks, satins, linens, laces, cheese, 
His coffee, sugar, raisins, spice. 
Were sure to bring the highest 

price ; 
And so it was he came to be 
Thti richest mei'chaut on the sea, 



And lived — there's little need to 
say — 

In such a princely sort of way 

The King himself could scarce 
afford 

The gems that decked our mer- 
chant-lord - 



A friendly neighbor, much amazed 
At all the wealth on which he 

gazed, 
Said, " Tell me, now, how may it 

be 
That you have come to what we 

see? " 
The merchant, smiling, swelled 

with pride. 
And, like a monarch, thus replied: 
" How comes it? — plain enough, 

I trow ; 
It comes, my friend, of knowing 

how ! '*' 



With growing riches now, indeed, 
The trader felt a growing greed, 
And, giddy with prosperity, 
Stakes all he has again at sea. 
But now success no longer paid 
The heedless risks the merchant 

made. 
One bark was wrecked because 

her load. 
For want of care, was ill bestowed ; 
Another (lacking arms, they say) 
To ruthless pirates fell a prey; 
A third came safe, at last, to land 
With goods no longer in demand; 
In brief, his ventures pi-oved so bad 
He soon was stript of all he had, 
And now among his fellow-men. 
Was but a common man again. 

Once more his friend inquiry made 
Whence came disaster to his trade. 
" What brought you to this dismal 
pass?" 



216 



THE SHERIFF OF SAUMUR. 



" 'T was Fortune,''^ said the man, 
" alas ! " 

" Indeed? Well, well," the 
friend replies, 

"Although her gold the Dame de- 
nies, 

She yet may teach you to be 
wise! " 

So goes the world! each thank- 
less elf, 
Whate'er may be his worldly 
state, 
Imputes his blessings to himself. 
And lays his blunders all to Fate. 



THE FOECE OF EXAMPLE. 

A FABLE. 

A MOTHEK lobster, with her daugh- 
ter 
Conversing near their native water, 
And closely watching, as she 

talked. 
The style in which the latter 

walked. 
Rebuked her for her awkward way 
Of locomotion: " Tell me, pray," 
The matron scolded, " why instead 
Oi backward, you don't go ahead f 
Such awkwardness! Of course 

you know 
'T is not the proper way to go; 
Sure, folks of sense you thus will 

shock, 
And make yourself a laughing- 
stock! " 
" What ! " said the child, " do you 

suppose 
I don't know how my mother goes ? 
Shall I adopt the plan you say. 
While all the rest go t' "other way ? 



I really have n't got the face 
To change the custom of my race; 
It need not put j'ou in a passion, 
I merely mean to be in fashion; 
And, having learned the way from 



you, 
walk — as other lobsters do." 



To fix a good or evil course, 
Example is of potent force ; 
And they who wish the young to 

teach 
Must even practise what they 

preach. 



THE SHERIFF OF SAUMUR. 

A LEGEND. 

Once, when the King was travel- 
ling through 
His realm, as kings were wont to 

do 
In ancient times when royalty 
Was deemed a goodly sight to see, 
It chanced the Sheriff of Saumur^ 
A city in the royal tour, 
Was chosen by the magistrates 
To meet the monarch at the gates, 
And in a handsome speech declare 
How glad and proud the people 

were 
To see his Majesty; and say 
Such compliments as subjects pay. 
As being but the proper thing. 
On such occasions, to the King. 
" Sire," said the Sheriff (so the 

speech 
Began, of course), " Sire, we be- 
seech 



THE TWO WALLETS. 



217 



Your ^acious Majesty to hear 
The humble words of hearty cheer 
With which, great Sire, with 

which, through me. 
The people greet your Majesty. 
We are so glad to see you, Sire, 
That — that — " And here the 

speech hung fire. 
"So glad — the people of our 

town — 
That — that — " And here the 

man broke down. 
Whei'eat a courtier said, " I 'm sure 
These worthy people of Saumur 
Are glad, my liege, to see you 

here ; 
That seems to me extremely clear; 
And don't his Honor's speech con- 
fess it? 
So glad, indeed, they can't express 

it!'' 



THE TWO WALLETS. 

Why humankind should ever be 
So keen their neighbors' faults to 

see, 
While (wonderful to tell!) their 

own 
Are to themselves almost un- 
known, 
This ancient fable clearly shows; 
Once on a time, the story goes. 
Great Jove, the wise "Olympian 

King, 
Proclaimed to each created thing, 
That he would hold a special court 
Where all might come and make 

report 
Of aught that each might deem it 

wise 
To change in feature, form, or size. 



He promised quickly to redress 
All imperfections, large or less; 
Whatever error or defect 
Each in his person might detect. 
First came the Monkey. Naught 

had he 
Of special fault — that he could 

see! 
A paragon of wit and grace, 
Who had — almost — a human 

face! 
One seeks a finer form in vain. 
Pray, why should such as he com- 
plain ? 
"But look at Bruin!'" cried the 

ape; 
" Was ever such a clumsy shape V 
And then, for life, condemned to 

wear 
That ugly suit of shaggy hair! " 
"Nay," said the bear, "I find my 

form 
As I could wish. My fur is warm, 
And looks, I think, extremely fine, 
Good Master Ape, compared with 

thine. 
But see the Elephant ! his size 
Is much too huge; and I advise 
(So ludicrous the beast appears) 
To stretch his tail, and crop his 

ears! " 
"Nay," quoth the Elephant, who 

deems 
His figure clear of all extremes, 
"I can't complain, — I'm quite 

content! " 
But then he marvelled what it 

meant 
The Whale should be so huge and 

fat! 
The Ant was sorry for the Gnat ! 
The Gnat reproached the tiny 

Flea! 
How could one live so small as she V 
Thus all the animals, in turn. 
The faults of others could discern; 
But not a creature, large or small, 
His own defects could see at all. 



218 



THE GREAT CRAB. 



So fares it with the human race, 
Who, thanks to Heaven's especial 

grace, 
A double wallet always wear. 
All sorts of sins and crimes to bear. 
Within the pouch that hangs be- 
fore 
The faults of other folks are 
thrown ; 
While, safely out of sight, we 
store 
The hinder pocket with our own. 



THE GREAT CRAB. 

A GERMAN LEGEND. 



Near Lake Mohrin, 'tis said, by 

day and night. 
The folks all tremble with unceas- 
ing fright 
Lest the Great Crab, we all have 

heard about, 
By some device should manage to 
get out ! 
He 's fastened down below, you 
see. 
And in the strongest way ; 
For, should he happen to get 
free, 
The deuce would be to pay ! 



An ugly monster of prodigious 

strength, 
A mile in breadth and twenty 

miles in length, 
He keeps the water foaming in the 

lake, 



And, once on land, what trouble 
he would make ! 
For with his backward motion 
(so 
An ancient seer declares) 
All other things would backward 
go, 
Throughout the world's affairs. 



The Burgomaster — mightiest of 

men — 
Would turn, that day, a sucking 

child again; 
The Judge and Parson, changed 

to little boys, 
Would quit their learned books for 
tiny toys, 
And so with matrons, maids, 
and men. 
All things would be reversed; 
And everything go back again 
To what it was at first. 



Such mischief to the people! 

While they eat. 
Back to the plate will go the smok- 
ing meat. 
And thence to pot! The bread 

will turn again 
To flour; the flour go back once 
more to grain. 
Back to the flax (0 sight of 
shame ! ) 
Will go the linen shirt; 
The flax return to whence it 
came, 
A linseed in the dirt. 



The timber in the house at once 

will move 
As trees again back to the primaV 

grove; 



LOVE AND FOLLY. 



219 



The hens will turn to chickens, in 

a crack, 
The chicks into the eggs again go 
back, 
And these the Great Crab with 
his tail, 
At one prodigious crash. 
Will knock, as with a thresh- 
ing-flail, 
To everlasting smash ! 



Now Heaven defend us from so 

dire a fate ! 
The world, I think, is doing well 

of late ; 
And for the Crab, let all good peo- 
ple pray- 
That in his lake he evermore may 
stay! 
Else even this poor song (alack! 

How very sad to think!) 
With all the rest must needs go 
back, 
And be a drop of ink ! 



LOVE AND FOLLY. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Cupid, we know, is painted blind; 
The reason it were hai'd to find. 
Unless, indeed, we may suppose 
The fable of Lafontaine shows, 
Beyond a reasonable doubt. 
How the misfortune came about. 
'T is said that on a certain day. 
As Love and Folly were at play. 
They fell into a warm debate 
Upon a point of little weight, 
Until, so high the quarrel rose, 
From angry words they came to 
blows. 



Love, little used to warlike arts 
(Save with his famous bow and 

darts). 
Although he fought with all his 

might, 
Was quickly vanquished in the 

fight; 
Miss Folly dealt him such a slap 
Across the face, the little chap 
Fell in a swoon, and woke to find 
He could not see I — the bov was 

blind ! 
Now when his doting mother 

came 
To know the case, the angry dame 
Behaved as any mother might 
Whose only son had lost his sight. 
Whatever had caused the dreadful 

deed. 
Malicious aim, or want of heed. 
Such wrath in Heaven was seldom 

seen 
As Venus showed in speech and 

mien. 
She stunned Olympus with her cries 
For vengeance. "What! put out 

his eyes ! 
My precious Cupid ! Let the jade 
Straight down to Orcus be con- 
veyed I 
That justice may be duly done 
On her who maimed my darling 

son, 
And left the lad, bereaved of sight, 
To grope in everlasting night! " 
While Venus thus for vengeance 

prayed 
On Folly, — thoughtless, hapless 

maid, — 
Great Jove convenes a special 

court 
To hear the case and make report. 
In solemn council long they sit 
To judge what penalty is fit 
The crime to answer; and, beside 
Some restitution to pi'ovide 
(If aught, indeed, they can devise/ 
For Master Cupid's ruined eyes. 



220 



LOVE OMNIPOTENT. 



And thus, at last, it was decreed, 
That Folly, for her wicked deed, 
In part the damage should restore 
By leading Cupid evermore ! 

L' ENVOI. 

And so it comes that still .we see 
The maid where'er the boy may 

be; 
Love still is blind ; and Folly still 
Directs the urchin where she will. 



LOVE OMNIPOTENT. 

A DIALOGUE OF THE GODS. 

ACT I. Scene : Hades. 

Pluto, Mercury. 

Pluto. My Furies all are get- 
ting old, and fill 

Their office, I protest, extremely 
ill; 

Go, Mercury, to Earth, and gather 
there 

A score or so; there 's plenty and 
to spare, 

I warrant me, among the woman- 
kind, 

By use and disposition well de- 
signed 

For Fury-service of the active 
sort. 

Examine well, and bring me due 
report. 
Mercury. I 'm off at once ! I 
fancy I can find 

Fifty, at least, exactly to your 
mind ; 

Sharp-tongued, sour-visaged, mal- 
ice-loving ladies 

Whom others than yourself have 
wished in Hades ! 

iExit Mercury. 



ACT II. Scene: Olympus: JuNO''s 
boudoir. 

Juno, Iris. 

Juno. I 'm much annoyed, good 
good Iris, with the airs 

Of vaunting Venus, — as if all 
affairs 

In Heaven and Earth were under 
her control ! 

I hear she boasts that scarce a 
human soul 

Is free from her authority ; that all 

The people in the world are fain to 
fall 

Upon their knees at her command, 
and own 

No equal goddess on the Olympian 
throne. 
Jris. Is 't possible V 
Juno. Yes, Iris, worse than 
that. 

She and her boy, (a mischief- 
breeding brat ! ) 

Who aids his mother by his wicked 
art, 

Declare <0 shame!) there 's not a 
female heart 

In all the universe — below, 
above — 

Which has not felt the subtle force 
of love ! 

An arrant falsehood, spoken just to 
vex 

The Queen of Heaven, and scandal- 
ize the sex. 

Among the earthly maidens, there- 
fore, go, 

And bring me back some evidence 
to show 

That Cytherea says — what isn't 
so! 
Iris. I fly! and never for a 
moment doubt 

I '11 bring you proofs to wipe the 
slander out. 

[Exit lEis. 



THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE RUSTIC. 



221 



ACT m Scene: same as be/ore. 
Juno reading. 



{Enter Iris.) 

Iris. gracious Queen, I've 
had a precious time ! 

VVell, I must say, if love is such a 
crime 

As well I know it is, (the more's 
the pity!) 

There's not a place on Earth — 
hamlet or city — 

That isn't full of it! In actual 
life 

'T is the chief topic; fiction, too, is 
rife 

With endless talk about it. On the 
stage. 

In poems, songs, 'tis everywhere 
the rage. 

Love, love, was still the theme 
where'er I went. 

In court, cot, castle, and the war- 
rior's tent, 

Love-knots, love-plots, love-mur- 
ders I — such a rush 

For love-romances in the papers — 
Juno. Hush ! 

Do stop your prattle. Iris, and con- 
fess 

You found some souls as j^et un- 
tainted — 
Iris. Yes! 

That is, I heard of three, — three 
virgin breasts 

That never once had throbbed at 
Love's behests. 
Juno. Of course you brought 
them with you. Three will 
prove 

All are not vassals to the Queen of 
Love! 
Iris. Well — no — unluckily, 
the day before 

A royal messenger from Plato's 
shore 



Took them away to grace his grimy 
court, 

His stock of Furies being some- 
thing short. 
[Jvno faints , and curtain falls. 



THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE 
RUSTIC. 

A MORAL HOMILY. 

A GRAVE philosopher, whose name 
To Scythia gave i*esplendent fame, 
Intent his knowledge to increase, 
A journey took through classic 

Greece, 
Where, to his profit and delight, 
He saw full many a novel sight. 
Towers, temples, people, — and 

much more. 
As brave Ulysses did of yore ; 
But chiefly he was struck to see 
A simple man, of low degree, 
Untaught in philosophic page, 
But in his life a very sage. 
His farm, a little patch of land. 
He tilled with such a clever hand, 
It yielded all he cared to spend. 
And something more to treat a 

friend. 
Approaching where the rustic 

now 
Was clipping at an apple-bough, 
The Scythian gave a wondering 

look 
To see him wield hispruning-hook, 
Here lopping off" a withered limb, 
There reaching high a branch to 

trim, 
Correcting nature everywhere, 
But always with judicious care. 
"Sir," said the tourist, "tell me 

why 
This wanton waste that meets mv 

eye V 



222 



THE GARDENER AND THE KING. 



Your husbandry seems rather 

rough ; 
Time's scythe will cut them soon 

enough." 
"Nay," said the Sage, "I only 

dress 
My apple-trees, and curb excess : 
Enhancing thus, as seems but 

wise, 
My fruit in sweetness, tale, and 
size." 
Returning home the Scythian 
took 
"Without delay his pruning-hook. 
On all his trees the knife he tried, 
And cut and carved on every side, 
Nor from his murderous work re- 
frained 
Till naught but barren stumps re- 
mained. 



This Scythian sage resembles those 
Who deem their passions are their 

foes; 
And who, instead of pruning Avhere 
Excess requires the owner's care. 
Cut down the tree that God has 

made 
With fierce Repression's cruel 

blade'; 
And thus, for future life, destroy 
All precious fruit of human joy."^ 



THE GARDENER AND THE 
KING. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Once on a time, at Erivan, 
There dwelt a poor but honest man 
Who kept a little garden, where 
There grew much fruit, so fine and 
fair. 



So large and juicy, ripe and s?oun(3, 
'T was known for many leagues 

around. 
One day, a neighbor, looking o'er 
I The autumn's wealth, a goodly 
store, 
Advised the owner thus: "Good 

man, 
Take some of these to Ispahan ; 
'T will please the King, who, I am 

told, 
Cares more for luxury than goM ; 
And so your fortune you '11 in- 
crease 
By many a shining golden piece." 
"Faith! so I will I " the man re- 
plies. 
Then to the market-place he hies ; 
The finest basket he can find 
He buys, then stores it to his mind 
With choicest fruit of every sort, 
And off he starts for king and 
court. 
AiTived, the Marshal asks his 
name. 
And, learning whence and why he 

came, 
He bade him enter. That's the 

way 
It was in Persia, — and to-day 
In every land, except our own, 
The same partiality is shown; 
The giver finds an open gate, 
While he who seeks may stand 
and wait! 
The King, delighted with the 
fruit. 
Returned his thanks, — and would 

it suit 
The worthy man to bring some 

more V 
Ah, that it would ! Was e'er be- 
fore 
A man so lucky ? Now, the while 
He waits to catch the royal smile, 
And get his pay, he stares at all 
So new and strange — the loft) 
hall. 



THE VISION OF THE FAITHFUL. 



223 



And people there; among the rest, 
To put his manners to the test, 
An ugly little dwarf he spies, 
A hunchback of such paltry size 
The gardener laughed aloud. 

Alack! 
"The fellow with the crooked 

back 
And bandy legs I — who could 

have known 
That he in i-ank was next the 

throne ? 
Though small in size, in honor 

great, 
fn fact. Prime Minister of State ! " 
His Honor scowled and looked 

around, 
And on the stranger grimly 

frowned. 
Enough! the guard, who under- 
stand 
The hint, now take the chap in 

hand, 
And, quicker than you read the 

tale. 
The gardener finds himself in jail ! 
Here, quite forgotten, he re- 
mained. 
Of light and liberty resti-ained. 
For twelve long months; and 

might, no doubt, 
Have been still longer getting out, 
Had not the King, growni hard to 

suit, 
Made mention of the finer fruit 
The sti'anger brought a year ago. 
And thus his Majesty w'ould know 
What it might mean, and why the 

man 
Had come no more to Ispahan ? 
Now, Avhen the truth was brought 

to light. 
The King — who laughed with all 

his might 
To hear about the strange mis- 
hap — 
Said, "Go, my men! and bring 
the chap; 



'T is fit I make him some 

amends." 
Forth comes the gardener, and at- 
tends 
Upon the King, who says, "I've 

heard 
The story, fellow, every word. 
And fain some recompense would 

make; 
Indeed, it was a gi-ave mistake. 
Although it makes me laugh to 

split 
My sides— ha! ha! — to think of 

it! 
Now, name your wish, — an easy 

task, — 
And I will grant whate'er you 

ask." 
"Then grant me this," replied 

the man, 
"An axe, some salt, an Alkoran. 
Well, that will do ; of all your store 
Those will suffice, — 1 ask no 

more." 
"Strange things to ask!" ex- 
claimed the King, 
" Now tell the meaning of this 

thin]|." 
" The axe I want to fell the tree 
That bore the fruit I gave to thee; 
The salt, upon the earth to sow. 
That none thereon again may 

grow ; 
The Alkoran, that I may swear, 
While I enjoy God's blessed air. 
That I will never darken more 
(With my consent) a palace 

door! " 



THE VISION OF THE FAITH- 
FUL. 

Upon the faithful in the common 
things 
Enjoined of Duty, rarest bless- 
ings wait. 



224 



THE OLD GENERAL AND HIS KING. 



A pious Nun (an ancient volume 
brings 
The legend and the lesson), 
while she sate 
Reading some scriptures of the 
Sacred Word, 
And n^arvelling much at 
Christ's exceeding grace. 
Saw in her room a Vision of the 
Lord, 
With sudden splendor filling all 
the place ! 
Whereat she knelt, enraptured; 
when a bell 
Signalled her hour to feed the 
convent's poor; 
Which humble duty done, she 
sought her cell, 
And lo! the Vision, brighter 
tnan before, 
Who, smiling, spake: "Even so is 
Heaven obtained ; 
I — hadst thou lingered here — 
had not remained ! " 



THE FAIRIES' GIFTS. 

In a far-away country, some cen- 
turies since, 
(If the story is false, it is cer- 
tainly pleasant,) 
Two fairies attended the birth of a 
Prince, 
And, after their custom, each 
brought him a present. 

"I bring him," one whispered, 
" the eagle's bright vision. 
So keen and wide-reaching that 
even a fly 
The monarch may mark with the 
sharpest precision. 
However remote, at a glance of 
his eye." 



" An excellent gift for a sovereign, 
no doubt," 
The other responds, " is a good 
pair of eyes ; 
But an eagle would scorn to be 
peering about. 
With intent to remark the be- 
havior of flies ! 



"And so to your present I beg to 
unite 
A gift of my choosing, — well 
suited to kings. 
And others no less; to the eagle's 
keen sight 
I add his contempt for all trivial 
things! " 

" In sooth," said the first, "I con- 
fess that I think 
Your cautious restriction ex- 
ceedingly wise; 
How often it happens that mei'ely 
to wink 
Is the properest use we can 
make of our eyes! " 



THE OLD GENERAL AND HIS 
KING. 

"All. men think all men mortal 

but 
Themselves!" says Young. The 

case is put 
Extremely strong, and yet, in sooth. 
The statement scarce 'exceeds the 

truth. 
That is to say, excepting those 
So very ill they can't suppose 
They 'Ve long to live, there 's 

scarcely one 
But deems his earthly course will 

run 



SAINT VERENA AND SATAN. 



225 



(Despite some transient doubts and 

fears) 
Beyond liis friend's of equal years. 
In proof how far such drearns pre- 
vail, 
Pray mark this old historic tale. 
A (jeneral whose lengthened term 
Of life had found him quite infirm, 
Was questioned by his Majesty 
(Older, by several years, than he) 
About his place of burial. 

"Where," 
The King inquired with friendly 

care, 
*' Pray tell me, would it please you 

best 
Your brave old honored bones 

should rest?" 
" Ah ! " said the Soldier," seldom I 
Have thought of death; but when 

I die, 
I 'd have my grave not quite alone. 
But near to where they 've placed 

your own! " 



SAINT VERENA AND SATAN. 

A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

Below Mount Jura lies a vale 
Extremely dark and deep and 
wide,' 
Where once, if we may trust the 
tale, 
Good Saint Verena lived and 
died. 



A pious damsel, sooth, was she. 
Who made her lowly life sublime 

With works of grace and charity ; 
The marvel of her age and clime. 



To heal the sick, and teach the 

young, 

And lead the weak in Virtue's 

ways, 

Her daily life, — and every tongue 

In all the valley sang her praise, 

Save one, — of course the "Evil 
One," — 
Who, being evermore at strife 
With pious folks, left naught un- 
done 
To end good Saint Verena' s life. 

Sometimes he turned, the legends 

say, 

A mountain torrent in her path ; 

In vain ! dry-shod she held her waj', 

Unhurt, despite the Devil's 

wrath 1 

And once a murderer, in the night, 

The fiend employed to take her 

life; 

In vain ! for when his lantern light 

Revealed her face, he dropped 

his knife. 

And so it fell the Devil's skill 
No harm to Saint Verena 
brought ; 
He failed to work his wicked will. 
And all his malice came to 
naught. 

Enraged, at last he seized a stone, 

Intent at once to crush her dead, 

(A rock that weighed at least a 

ton!) 

And held it poised above her 

head. 

Whereat she turned, and at the 
sight 
(Such angel-beauty filled her 
face) 



226 



THE SPELL OF CIRCE. 



Poor Satan shuddered with af- 
fright, 
And fain had fled the hcly place ! 



And in his fear he trembled so 
He dropped the stone, — down — 
down it goes ! 

To fall on Saint Verena ? — No ! 
It falls instead on Satan's toes ! 



And since that day he limps about, 
Unable more to leap or run ; 

And, that the story none may 
doubt. 
You still may see the very stone ; 



With five deep marks on either 
side, 
Which — so the pious peasant 
hints, 
Though wicked sceptics may de- 
ride — 
Are clearly Satan's finger- 
prints. 



THE SPELL OF CIECE. 

A CLASSIC FABLE. 

When all his comrades drank the 

magic bowl 
Of crafty Circe, changing form and 

soul 
Of men to brutes, — wolves, lions, 

bears, and swine, 
Ulysses only, full of strength divine. 
And matchless wisdom, 'scaped 

the siren's snare; 
Refused the tempting cup, and 

(triumph rare ! ) 



Returned another mixed with so 

much skill 
It charmed the charm©r to the 

hero's will, 
Till now she promised to restore 

his men 
From beastly shapes to human 

forms again, 
If so they willed. — " Pray, let 

them freely choose," 
The siren said ; '' but what if they 

refuse V ' ' 
Straight to the brutes their ancient 

leader ran. 
And thus, with joy, his eager 

tongue began : 
" My pi'esence here your quick re- 
lease secures ; 
Speak but the word, — for speech 

again is yours." 
The lion answered first: "What, 

I ? a king ! 
To change my state for such a 

paltry thing 
As a mere cit or sailor ? Let me 

be! 
I 'm always armed, for I have 

claws, you see ! 
As monarch of the forest now I 

range ; 
Thanks for your kindness, — but 

I would not change." 
Ulysses next approached the 

shaggy bear : 
" Alas ! how ill your form and face 

compare 
With those, mj- friend, that you 

were wont to show 
To courtly dames a little while 

ago! " 
"Indeed," the bear replied, "my 

present form 
Is one I find extremely nice and 

wai-m ; 
And as to features, sir, the ursine 

race 
Have their own notions of a pretty 

face. 



THE TWO GRAVES. 



227 



I well remember what I used to 

be,— 
A shivering sailor on the stormy- 
pea; 
And, faith! old man, I tell you 

plump and square, 
Compared with such, I'd rather 

be a bear! " 
Next to the wolf the anxious hero 

came. 
And begged the brute to change 

his ugly name 
And office, — '' What ! destroy the 

shepherd's flocks'? 
Sure, such a life a noble nature 

shocks ; 
Quit now, my old companion, 

while you can, 
Your thieving trade, and be an 

honest man! " 
"An honest man?" he howled, 

'*nay, who d' ye mean? 
Faith! that's a man that I have 

never seen ! 
And as to eating sheep, — pray 

tell me when 
They ceased to be the prey and 

food of men ? 
Savage ? you say ; why, men slay 

men, we find ; 
Wolves, at the worst, are wont to 

spare their kind ! " 
The hog came next. Change 

back? Not he! to tell 
The honest truth, he liked his ease 

too well; 
" Where will you find," grunts out 

the filthy swine, 
" A life so blest with luxury as 

mine? 
To eat and drink and sleep, — grow 

plump and fat, — 
What more, I ask, can mortal wish 

than that ? " 
So answered all the rest, the small 

and great. 
Each quite contented with his 

beastly state; 



Each spuming manhood and its 

joys, to boot. 
To be a lawless, lazy, sensual — 

brute. 



THE TWO GRAVES. 

A GERMAN LEGEND. 

A MAN who long had tried in vain 
The doctor's skill to ease the pain 
That racked his limbs, until his 

gout 
Scarce suffered him to crawl about, 
Though much inclining to despair, 
Gave ear to all who spoke him fair, 
And told of means that might in- 
sure 
The end he sought, — relief or 

cure. 
Among a crowd of such, there 

came. 
To proffer help, an ancient dame. 
Who, having heard with solemn 

face 
The nature of the patient's case, 
Advised him thus: "At early 

light, 
While yet the grass is damp with 

night, 
Go sit upon a good man's grave. 
And in the dews upon it lave 
Your aching limbs; repeat it 

thrice ; 
My word, 'twill cure you in a 

trice. 
Next morning at the dawn of 

day 
The cripple takes his weary way 
Unto the churchyard ; Avhere, upon 
A monument of polished stone. 
He read with joy: "Here lies a 

man 
Whose living virtues far outran 



KING PYRRHUS AND HIS COUNSELLOR. 



228 

All words of praise, — a model he 
Of Justice. Goodness, Charity.'' 
Enough! the patient takes his 

And in the moisture bathes his feet 
And aching joints; but, sooth to 

say, 
It did not drive his gout away, 
Though thrice repeated; nay, he 

swore 
The pain was greater than before. 
What next ? Near by, a hillock 
lies 
Of grass-grown earth; and so he 

tries 
The dame's prescription once 

again ; 
And lo! swift flies the patient s 

pain; 
He drops his staff, and, strange 

to tell, 
His gout is gone, — the man is 

well! 
With grateful heart and beaming 

He turns the sleeper's name to 

trace ; 
But no ; a slab is there alone, 
With not a word upon the stone. 



KING PYRRHUS AND HIS 
COUNSELLOR. 

AN APOLOGUE FROM BOILEAU. 

Quoth Cyneas, counsellor and 

friend 
To royal Pyrrhus, — " To what 

end, 
Tell me, mightiest of kings, 
Are all these ships and warUke 

things?" 



"To conquer Rome! — a pretty 

prize, 
And worth the cost," the King re- 
plies; 
" She '11 prove, I think, a valiant 

foe ; 
So, if you please, to Rome we go. 
u Well, — Rome reduced, my royal 

friend, 
What conquest next do you m' 

tend?" 
" The rest of Italy will do 
To keep our arms from rusting.' 

•' True. 
And then, of course there 's some- 
thing more— " 
u Well, — Sicily, a neighboring 

shore. 
Is worth the having." "Very 
well, — , , 

What next? " " That is n't hard 

to tell ; 
Of such a navy what 's the use 
Unless we sail to Syracuse? " 
" 'T is well, — and, having at com- 
mand 
All these, why, then you'll stay 

your hand?" 
"No. Syracuse obtained, we 11 

make 
A trip to Carthage; then we 11 

^jjj^g ' ' 

" Your scheme is vast, I must con- 
Thus you advance till you possess 
Arabia, Africa, and what 
May lie beyond, — till you have 

got 
The Indian realm; nor resting 

Extend your broad dominion 

where 
The hardy Scythian dwells. And 

"Why, then we'll hasten back 

' again, 
And take our ease, and sweetly 
spend 



THE FARMER WHO MADE HIS OWN WEATHER. 229 



Our lives in pleasure to the end." 
So quoth the King. "Ah!" Cy- 

neas said, 
And gravely shook his reverend 

head, 
" Why go so far and pay so dear 
For pleasures, Sire, that now and 

here 
We may possess? How much 

more wise 
To take the good that near us lies. 
To seize the passing joy, unvext 
With anxious care about the 

next! " 



THE FARMER WHO MADE 
HIS OWN WEATHER. 

Once on a time, Lafontaine 

writes, 
Jove, sitting on th' Olympian 

heights, 
Called nimble Mercury to his side, 
And bade him publish, far and 

wide, 
^^ A farm to let ! \^ Whei-eat he 

flies 
Through all the world to advertise 
" The finest farm that can be found 
For fifty thousand miles around; 
To let — on terms quite sure to 

please 
Whoe'er may wish to take the 

lease! " 
Then came the farmers thick 

and fast 
To see the land, — which far sur- 
passed 
Their brightest hopes; but in a 

trice 
All fell to higgling at the price. 
One said the soil was thin and 

poor; 
Another, that it lacked manure ; 



And still another man made bold 
To say the land was sour and cold ; 
Each finding fault, with shrewd 

intent 
To cheapen what he wished to rent. 
At length, when all had said 

their say. 
And some began to go away, 
One, who as yet had held his 

peace. 
Proposed at once to take the lease. 
Provided Jove would give him 

power 
O'er cold and heat, o'er sun and 

shower ; 
In brief — to sum it all together — 
The power to regulate the weather ! 
'T is granted ! So, by Jove's com- 
mand. 
The joyful tenant takes the land. 
He rains or shines, makes cold or 

warm. 
Brings down the dew, averts the 

storm ; 
Rules, at his will, the wind that 

blows. 
And regulates the winter's snows. 
In short, within the narrow range 
Of his own acres, makes the 

change 
Of seasons through the varied year. 



Alas ! the gift proves all too de 



For, while the farmer sees with 

pain 
His neighbors' lands are rich in 

grain. 
And all that genial Nature yields 
In thrifty herds and fruitful fields. 
His own, despite his anxious toil, 
Proves, at the best, ungrateful soil, 
That brings him naught but dis- 
content. 
Without a sou to pay the rent. 
What could he do V — he cannot 

And so the man was fain to pray 
To be forgiven; with shame con- 
fessed 



230 



THE TRAVELLER AND THE TEMPEST. 



His folly, — who essayed to test 
The Power divine that x'ules above, 
And deemed himself more wise 
than Jove. 



THE PKOXY SAINT. 

Each for himself must do his 
Master's work, 
Or at his peril leave it all un- 
done; 
Witness the fate of one who sought 
to shirk 
The sanctuary's service, yet 
would shun 
The penalty. A man of earthly 
aims 
(So runs the apologue),' whose 
pious spouse 
Would oft remind him of the 
Church's claims. 
Still answered thus, " Go thou 
and pay our vows 
For thee and me " Now, when 
at Peter's gate 
The twain together had arrived 
at last, 
He let the woman in ; then to her 
mate, 
Shutting the door, "Thou hast 
already passed 
By^roic?/," said the Saint, — "just 
in the way 
That thou on earth wast wont to 
fast and pray. " 



THE TWO WISHES. 

AN EGYPTIAN TALE. 

In Babylon, some ages since. 
Death took, one day, the reigning 
Prince ; 



And so — 't is needless to be said — 
The heir-apparent reigned instead. 
( For then as now it was the law 
" Le roi est mort .' " — so " Vive le 

voir' 
In the same breath the courtiers 

sing, 
" The King is dead! " — " Long 

live the King! ") 
The son, on looking round to 

find 
What wealth the sire had left be- 
hind, 
With other riches — more indeed 
Than e'en a king could fairly 

need — 
A secret chest discovered, where 
His sordid sire, with anxious care, 
His golden gains had safely stored, 
Till now it reached a mighty hoard. 
" Great God ! " he cried, " 0, may 

I spend 
This ample treasure thou dost lend 
In charity, and may I live 
Till not a coin remains to give ! " 
The Vizier, smiling, said, " Good 

Sire, 
Your noble aim I much admire ; 
But list, your Majesty, I pray, 
To what I heard your father say, 
While gazing on this very chest, 
Then scarce a quarter full, at 

best : 
' gracious God! be it thy will,' 
He cried, ' that I may live to fill 
This cofler full ! Grant, I implore. 
This one request, — I ask no 

more! ' " 



THE TRAVELLER AND THE 
TEMPEST. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A MERCHANT, — SO the tale is told 
In Eastern fable, quaint and old, ^ 



PAST, FUTURE, AND PRESENT. 



23] 



Whom urgent business called to 

roam 
On foot in parts remote from 

home, 
Was caught, one morning, in a 

shower 
Of such extremely pelting power, 
The man was fairly drenched with 

rain ; 
And, though no saint, for once was 

fain 
To call on Jove in earnest prayer 
That he, the pluvious god ! would 

spare 
A suffering wretch whose shiver- 
ing form 
Was like to perish in the storm- 
But still, though loud his prayers 

arise, 
They fail to pierce the murky 

skies; 
And added vows prove all in vain 
To stay the fury of the rain. 
And"^now, since Jove no succor 

lent. 
The traveller growls his discontent 
In impious scoffs at Heaven's de- 

crees- 
"The gods," he muttered, "sit at 

ease. 
And laugh at us who strive to 

please 
Their vanity with praise and 

prayer. 
And gifts that we can poorly spare ; 
Meanwhile the very ills they send 
They lack the power — or will — to 

mend ! " 
With this, he sought a neighboring 

wood, 
To shun the storm as best he could; 
When lo ! a robber issuing thence, 
The man, unarmed for self-defence, 
With flying footsteps sought again 
The fury of the open rain, — 
A friendly barrier now, perchance, 
Against the robber's dread ad- 
vance. 



And so it proved, yet, as he fled, 
The other, pointing at his head 
A well-aimed ari-ow, would have 

slain 
The fugitive, had not the rain 
The moistened bowstring so un- 
nerved. 
The dart fell short, and only served 
The more to speed the traveller's 

flight. 
Till he was safely out of sight. 
Now, when the storm was spent 
at last. 
And all the pain and peril past, 
The traveller, resting for a space 
Where sunshine made a pleasant 

place 
His limbs to warm, his cloak to 

dry, 
Heard, thundering from the azure 

sky, 
A solemn voice, whose words pro- 
claim 
The source celestial whence they 

came: 
" Consider well, mortal man ! 
How wise is Heaven's benignant 

plan; 
When skies are black and tempests 

lower, 
Mark not alone the Thunderer's 

power, 
But in his ways, at every turn, 
His kindly providence discern ! " 



PAST, FUTURE, AND PRES- 
ENT. 



AN ALLEGORY. 



Once on a time — we need not care 
Too nicely for the when and where — 
Three princes, who, since Time 
had birth, 



232 



PAST, FUTURE, AND PRESENT. 



Have ruled three provinces on 

earth, 
Whate'er the scope of human aims, 
(Past, Future, Pr-esent, were their 

names, ) 
Met on a pleasant summer's day. 
And talking in a friendly way 
Of topics such as neighbors use 
For mere companionship, — the 

news. 
The weather, or mayhap the price 
Of bullion since the last advice 
Touching the royal health, — began 
At length to speculate on Man 
And his affairs ; in brief, on all 
Such subtile themes as, since the 

Fall, 
Have puzzled moralists ; and then 
From such deep talk concerning 

men 
As ranged from Providence to Fate, 
They fell at last to sharp debate 
About themselves, as, who might be 
In power the greatest of the three V 



" I," said the Past, "must be the 

one. 
Since all things great were surely 

done 
B}'^ me, — there 's naught in all the 

land 
But bears the impress of my hand ! ' ' 
"True," said the Future; "yet 

reflect, 
Your doings claim but small respect 
Compared with mine, — since all 

to be 
Henceforward will be ruled by 

me! " 
"Nay," said the Present, "cease 

your claims ; 
What are ye both but sounding 

names ? 
All things achieved beneath the 

sun. 
And all on earth that shall be done, 
Are mine alone! O'er great and 

small 
The Present still is king of all! " 



SATIRES 



SATIEES. 



PROGRESS. 



A SATIRE. 



In this, our happy and " progres- 
sive" age, 

When all alike ambitious cares en- 
gage; 

When beardless boys to sudden 
sages grow. 

And "Miss "her nurse abandons 
for a beau ; 

When for their dogmas Non-Re- 
sistants fight, 

When dunces lecture, and when 
dandies write ; 

When matrons, seized with ora- 
torio pangs. 

Give happy birth to masculine 
harangues. 

And spinsters, trembling for the 
nation's fate, 

Neglect their stockings to preserve 
the state; 

When critic - wits their brazen 
lustre shed 

On golden authors whom they 
never read. 

With parrot praise of "Roman 
grandeur" speak. 

And in bad English eulogize the 
Greek ; — 

When facts like these no reprehen- 
sion bring, 



May not, uncensured, an Attorney 

sing ? 
In sooth he may; and though " un- 
born" to climb 
Parnassus' heights, and " build the 

lofty rhyme," 
Though Flaccus fret, and wam- 

ingly advise 
That "middling verses gods and 

men despise," 
Yet will he sing, to Yankee license 

true, 
In spite of Horace and " Minerva " 

too! 



My theme is Progress, — never- 
tiring theme 
Of prosing dulness, and poetic 

dream; 
Beloved of Optimists, who still 

protest 
Whatever happens, happens for the 

best; 
Who prate of "evil" as a thing 

unknown, 
A fancied color, or a seeming tone, 
A vague chimera cherished by tlie 

dull. 
The empty product of an emptier 

skull. 
Expert logicians they ! — to show 

at will. 
By ill philosophy, that naught is ill ! 



236 



PROGRESS. 



Should some sly rogue, the city's 

constant curse, 
Deplete your pocket and relieve 

your purse, 
Or if, approaching with ill-omened 

tread, 
Some bolder burglar break your 

house and head. 
Hold, friend, thy rage! nay, let 

the rascal flee ; 
No evil has been done the world, 

or thee : 
Here comes Philosophy will make 

it plain 
Thy seeming loss is universal gain ! 
"thy heap of gold was clearly 

grown too great, — 
*T were best the poor should share 

thy large estate ; 
While misers gather, that the 

knaves should steal. 
Is most conducive to the general 

weal; 
Thus thieves the wrongs of avarice 

efface. 
And stand the friends and stewards 

of the race ; 
Thus every moral ill but serves, in 

fact, 
Some other equal ill to counteract." 
Sublime Philosophv ! — benignant 

light! 
Which sees in every pair of wrongs, 

a right; 
Which finds no evil or in sin or pain, 
And proves that decalogues are 

writ in vain ! 

Hail, mighty Progress! loftiest 

we find 
Thy stalking strides in science of 

the mind. 
What boots it now that Locke was 

learned and wise ? 
What boots it now that men have 

ears and eyes ? 
*' Pure Reason " in their stead now 

hears and sees, 



And walks apart in stately scorn 
of these ; 

Laughs at "experience," spurns 
" induction " hence. 

Scouting "the senses," and trans- 
cending sense. 

No more shall flippant ignorance 
inquire, 

" If German breasts may feel 
poetic fire," 

Nor German dulness write ten 
folios full, 

To show, for once, that Dutchmen 
are not dull. 9 

For here Philosophy, acute, re- 
fined. 

Sings all the marvels of the human 
mind 

In strains so passing " dainty 
sweet " to hear, 

That e'en the nursery turns a 
ravished ear ! 

Here Wit and Fancy in scholastic 
bowers 

Twine beauteous wreaths of meta- 
physic flowers ; 

Here Speculation pours her daz- 
zling light, 

Here grand Invention wings a dar- 
ing flight, 

And soars ambitious to the lofty 
moon. 

Whence, haply, freighted with 
some precious boon, 

Some old " Philosophy" in fog in- 
cased. 

Or new " Religion" for the chang- 
ing taste. 

She straight descends to Learning's 
blest abodes. 

Just simultaneous with the Paris 
modes ! 

Here Plato's dogmas eloquently 
speak. 

Not as of yore, in grand and grace- 
ful Greek, 

But (quite beyond the dreaming 
sage's hope 



Of future glory in 

scope), 
Translated dozen, as by some Aviz- 

ard touch, 
Find " immortality " in good high 

Dutch! 



PROGRESS. 

fancy's 



237 



Happy the youth, 
golden age. 
Condemned no more 



in this our 
to con the 
antiquated 
from our 



prosy page 

Of Locke and Bacon, 
fools, 

Now justly banished 
moral schools. 

By easier modes philosophy is 
taught, 

Than through the medium of labo- 
rious thought. 

Imagination kindly serves instead, 

And saves the pupil many an ach- 
ing head. 

Room for the sages ! — hither 
comes a throng 

Of blooming Platos trippingly along. 

In dress how fitted to beguile the 
fair! 

What intellectual, stately heads — 
of hair ! 

Hark to the Oracle ! — to Wisdom's 
tone 

Breathed in a fragrant zephyr of 
Cologne. 

That boy in gloves, the leader of 
the van, 

Talks of the "outer" and the 
" inner man," 

And knits his girlish brow in stout 
resolve 

Some mountain-sized '* idea " to 
"evolve." 

Delusive toil! — thus in their in- 
fant days. 

When children mimic manly deeds 
in plays, 

Long will they sit, and eager " bob 
for whale " 

Within the ocean of a water-pail ! 



The next, whose looks unluckily 
reveal 

The ears portentous that his locks 
conceal, 

Prates of the " orbs " with such a 
knowing frown, 

You deem he puffs some litho- 
graphic town 

In Western wilds, where yet un- 
broken ranks 

Of thrifty beavers build unchar- 
tered " banks," 

And prowling panthei's occupy the 
lots 

Adorned with churches on the 
paper plots ! 

But ah ! what suffering harp is 

this we hear ? 
What jarring sounds invade the 

wounded ear? 
Who o'er the lyre a hand spasmodic 

flings, 
And grinds harsh discord from the 

tortured strings V 
The Sacred Muses, at the .sound 

dismayed, 
Eetreat disordered to their native 

shade. 
And Phoebus hastens to his high 

abode. 
And Orpheus frowns to hear an 

" Orphic ode " ! 

" Talk not, ye jockeys, of the 

wondrous speed 
That marks your Northern or your 

Southern steed; 
See Progress fly o'er Education's 

course ! 
Not far-famed Derby owns a fleeter 

horse ! 
On rare Improvement's "short 

and easy" road. 
How swift her flight to Learning's 

blest abode ! 
In other times — 't was many years 

ago — 



238 



PROGRESS. 



The scholar's course was toilsome, 

rough, and slow, 
The fair Humanities were sought 

in tears, 
And came, the trophy of laborious 

years. 
Now Learning's shrine each idle 

youth may seek. 
And, spending there a shilling and 

a week, 
(Atlightest cost of study, cash, and 

lungs, ) 
Come back, like Rumor, with a 

hundred tongues ! 

What boots such progress, when 
the golden load 

From heedless haste is lost upon 
the road ? 

When each great science, to the 
student's pace, 

Stands like the wicket in a hurdle 
race, 

Which to o'erleap is all the courser's 
mind, 

And all his glory that 'tis left be- 
hind! 

Nor less, Progress, are thy new- 
est rules 

Enforced and honored in the 
''Ladies' School"; 

Where Education, in its npbler 
sense. 

Gives place to Learning's shallow- 
est pretence; 

Where hapless maids, in spite of 
wish or taste. 

On vain " accomplishments " their 
moments waste ; 

By cruel parents here condemned 
to wrench 

Their tender throats in mispro- 
nouncing French ; 

Here doomed to force, by unrelent- 
ing knocks. 

Reluctant music from a tortured 
box; 



Here taught, in inky shades and 
rigid lines, 

To perpetrate equivocal " de- 
signs"; 

" Drawings " that prove their title 
plainly true. 

By showing nature " drawn," and 
" quartered" too ! 

In ancient times, I 've heard my 
grandam tell, 

Young maids were taught to read, 
and write, and spell ; 

(Neglected arts! once learned by, 
rigid rules. 

As prime essentials in the "com- 
mon schools " ;) 

Well taught beside in many a use- 
ful art 

To mend the manners and improve 
the heart ; 

Nor yet unskilled to turn the busy 
wheel. 

To ply the shuttle, and to twirl the 
reel. 

Could thrifty tasks with cheerful 
grace pursue. 

Themselves " accomplished," and 
their duties too. 

Of tongues, each maiden had but 
one, 't is said, 

(Enough, 't was thought, to serve 
a lady's head,) 

But that was English, — great and 
glorious tongue 

That Chatham spoke, and Milton, 
Shakespeare, sung! 

Let thoughts too idle to be fitly 
dressed 

In sturdy Saxon be in French ex- 
pressed ; 

Let lovers breathe Italian, — like, 
in sooth, 

Its singers, soft, emasculate, and 
smooth ; 

But for a tongue whose ample 
powers embrace 

Beauty and force, sublimity and 
grace, 



PROGRESS. 



239 



Ornate or plain, harmonious, yet 

strong, 
And formed alike for eloquence 

and song, 
Give me the English, — aptest 

tongue to paint 
A sage or dunce, a villain or a saint. 
To spur the slothful, counsel the 

distressed, 
To lash the oppressor, and to soothe 

the oppressed. 
To lend fantastic Humor freest 

scope 
To marshal all his laughter-mov- 
ing troop. 
Give Pathos power, and Fancy 

lightest wings. 
And Wit his merriest whims and 

keenest stings ! 

The march of Progress let the 

Muse explore 
In pseudo-science and empiric lore. 
sacred Science I how art thou 

profaned. 
When shallow quacks and vagrants, 

unrestrained. 
Flaunt in thy robes, and vagabonds 

are known 
To brawl thy name, who never 

wrote their own ; 
When crazy theorists their addled 

schemes 
(Unseemly product of dyspeptic 

dreams) 
Impute to thee ! — as courtesans of 

yore 
Their spurious bantlings left at 

Mars's door; 
When each projector of apatentpill, 
Or happy founder of a coffee-mill. 
Invokes "^thine aid to celebrate his 

wares. 
And crown with gold his philan- 

throphic cares; 
Thus Islam's hawkers piously pro- 
claim 
Their figs and pippins in the 

Prophet's name! 



Some sage Physician, studious 
to advance 

The art of healing, and its praise 
enhance. 

By observation " scientific " finds 

(What else were hidden from in- 
ferior minds) 

That Water 's useful in a thousand 
ways. 

To cherisli health, and lengthen 
out our days; 

A mighty solvent in its simple 
scope. 

And quite " specific " with Castil- 
ian soap ! 

The doctor's labors let the thought- 
less scorn. 

See! a new "science" to the 
world is born ; 

"Disease is dirt! all pain the 
patient feels 

Is but the soiling of the vital 
wheels ; 

To wash away all particles impure, 

And cleanse the system, plainly is 
to cure! " 

Thus shouts the doctor, eloquent, 
and proud 

To teach his "science" to the 
gaping crowd ; 

Like " Father Mathew," eager to 
allure 

Afflicted mortals to his "water- 
cure " ! 



'Tis thus that modem "sci- 
ences " are made, 

By bold assumption, puffing, and 
parade. 

Take three stale " truths " ; a 
dozen "facts," assumed; 

Two known "effects," and fifty 
more presumed; 

" Affinities " a score, to sense un- 
known, 

And, just as " lucus, non lucendo " 
shown, 



240 



PROGRESS. 



Add but a name of pompous Anglo- 
Greek, 

And onl)' not impossible to speak, 

The work is done; a "science" 
stands confest, 

And countless welcomes greet the 
queenly guest. 

In closest girdle, OreluctantMuse, 

In scantiest skirts, and lightest- 
stepping shoes, !<> 

Prepare to follow Fashion's gay- 
advance, 

And thread the mazes of her mot- 
ley dance : 

And, marking well each momen- 
tary hue, 

And transient form, that meets the 
wondering view. 

In kindred colors, gentle Muse, 
essay 

Her Protean phases fitly to portray. 

To-day, she slowly drags a cum- 
brous trail, 

And " Ton ' ' rejoices in its length of 
tail; 

To-morrow, changing her capri- 
cious sport, 

She trims herflounces just as much 
too short; 

To-day, right jauntily, a hat she 



That scarce affords a shelter to 

her ears ; 
To-morrow, haply, searching long 

in vain. 
You spy her features down a Leg- 
horn lane ; 
To-day, she glides along with 

queenly grace. 
To-morrow, ambles in a mincing 

pace. 
To-day, erect, she loves a martial 

air, 
And envious train-bands emulate 

the fair; 
To-morrow, changing as her whim 

may serve, 



"She stoops to conquer" in a 

" Grecian curve. 'H 
To day, with careful negligence 

arrayed 
In scanty folds, of woven zephyrs 

made. 
She moves like Dian in her woody 

bowers. 
Or Flora floating o'er a bed of 

flowers ; 
To-morrow, laden with a motley 

freight. 
Of startling bulk and formidable 

weight. 
She waddles forth, ambitious to 

amaze 
The vulgar crowd, who giggle as 

they gaze. 

Despotic Fashion ! potent is her 

sway. 
Whom half the world full loyally 

obey; 
Kings bow submissive to her stern 

decrees. 
And proud Republics bend their 

necks and knees ; 
Where'er we turn the attentive eye, 

is seen 
The worshipped presence of the 

modish queen ; 
In Dress, Philosophy, Religion, 

Art, 
Whate'er employs the head, or 

hand, or heart. 



Is some fine lady quite o'ercome 
with woes. 

From an unyielding pimple on her 
nose. 

Some unaccustomed "buzzing in 
her ears," 

Or other marvel to alarm her fears ? 

Fashion, with skill and judgment 
ever nice, 

At once advises * ' medical ad- 
vice"! 



PROGRESS. 



241 



Then names her doctor, who, ar- 
rived in haste, 

Proceeds accordant with the laws 
of taste. 

If real ills afflict the modish dame, 

Her blind idolatry is still the same ; 

Less grievous far, she deems it, to 
endure 

Genteel malpractice, than a vulgar 
cure. 

If, spite of gilded pills and golden 
fees, 

Her dear dyspepsia grows a dire 
disease. 

And Doctor Dapper proves a shal- 
low rogue. 

The world must own that both 
were much in vogue. 



What impious mockery, when, 
with soulless art, 

Fashion, intrusive, seeks to rule 
the heart ! 

Directs how grief may tastefully 
be borne ; 

Instructs Bereavement just how 
long to mourn ; 

Shows Sorrow how by nice degrees 
to fade. 

And marks its measure in a rib- 
bon's shade! 

More impious still, when, through 
her wanton laws, 

She desecrates Keligion's sacred 
cause ; 

Shows how " the narrow road " is 
easiest trod. 

And how, genteelest, worms may 
worship God; 

How sacred rites may bear a world- 
ly grace. 

And self-abasement wear a haugh- 
ty face ; 

How sinners, long in Folly's mazes 
whirled, 

VVith pomp and splendor may " re- 
nounce the world " ; 
16 



How, " with all saints hereafter to 

appear," 
Yet quite escape the vulgar portion 

herel 



Imperial Fashion ! her impartial 
care 

Things most momentous, and most 
trivial, share. 

Now crushing conscience (her in- 
veterate foe). 

And now a waist, and now, per- 
chance, a toe. 

At once for pistols and " the Pol- 
ka " votes, 

And shapes alike our characters 
and coats. 

The gravest question which the 
world divides, 

And lightest riddle, in a breath de- 
cides: 

"If wrong may not, by circum- 
stance, be right," — 

" If black cravats be more genteel 
than white," — 

" If by her ' bishop,' or her 'grace,' 
alone, 

A genuine lady, or a church, is 
known " ; — 

Problems like these she solves with 
graceful air. 

At once a casuist and a connois- 
seur. 



Does some sleek knave, whom 
magic money-bags 

Have raised above liis fellow- 
knaves in rags. 

Some willing minion of unblushing 
Vice, 

Who boasts that " Virtue ever has 
her price," — 

Does he, unpitying, blast thy sis- 
ter's fame, 

Or doom thy daughter to undying 
shame. 



242 



PROGRESS. 



To bow her head beneath the eye 

of scorn, 
And droop and wither in her maid- 
en morn ? 
Fashion "regrets," declares '"t 

was very wrong," 
And, quite dejected, hums an 

opera song. 
Impartial friend, 3'our cause to her 

appealed. 
Yourself and foe she summons to 

the field, 
Where Honor carefully the case 

observes. 
And nicely weighs it in a scale of 

nerves. 
Despotic rite ! whose fierce, vindic- 
tive reign 
Boasts, unrebuked, its countless 

victims slain, 
While Christian rulers, recreant, 

support 
The pagan honors of thy bloody 

court, 
And " Freedom's champions " 

epum their hallowed trust. 
Kneel at thy nod, and basely lick 

the dust. 



Degraded Congress! once the 

honored scene 
Of patriot deeds; where men of 

solemn mien, 
In virtue strong, in understanding 

clear. 
Earnest, though courteous, and, 

though smooth, sincere. 
To gravest counsels lent the teem- 
ing hours. 
And gave their country all their 

mighty powers. 
But times are changed, a rude, 

degenerate race 
Usurp the seats, and shame the 

sacred place. 
Here plotting demagogues with 

zeal defend 



The '* people's rights," — to gain 
some private end. 

Here Southern youths, on Folly's 
surges tost. 

Their fathers' wisdom eloquently 
boast. 

(So dowerless spinsters proudly 
number o'er 

The costly jewels that their gran- 
dams wore.) 

Here would-be Tullys pompously 
parade 

Their tumid tropes for simple 
" Buncombe " made, 12 

Full on the chair the chilling tor- 
rent shower. 

And work their word - pumps 
through the allotted hour. 

Deluded "Buncombe!" while, 
with honest praise. 

She notes each grand and patriotic 
phrase. 

And, much rejoicing in her hope- 
ful son, 

Deems all her own the laurels he 
has won, 

She little dreams how brother 
members fled. 

And left the house as vacant fjB his 
head ! 

Here rural Chathams, eager to at« 
test 

The "growing greatness of tha 
mighty West," 

To make the plainest proposition 
clear, 

Crack Priscian's head, and Mr. 
Speaker's ear; 

Then, closing up in one terrific 
shout, 

Pour all their " wild-cats " furious- 
ly out ! 

Here lawless boors with ruffian 
bullies vie. 

Who last shall give the rude, in- 
sulting "lie," 

While "Order! order!" loud the 
chairman calls. 



PROGBESS. 



243 



And echoing "Order!" every 
member bawls; 

Till rising high in rancorous debate, 

And higher still in fierce enven- 
omed hate, 13 

Retorted blows the scene of riot 
crown. 

And big Lycurgus knocks the 
lesser down ! 



Ye honest dames in frequent 

proverbs named. 
For finest fish and foulest English 

famed, 
Whose matchless tongues, 't is 

said, were never heard 
To speak a flattering or a feeble 

word, — 
Here all your choice invective ye 

might urge 
Our lawless Solons fittingly to 

scourge ; 
Here, in congenial company, might 

rail 
Till, quite worn out, your creak- 
ing voices fail, — 
Unless, indeed, for once compelled 

to yield 
In wordy strife, ye vanquished 

quit the field ! 



Hail, Social Progress ! each new 

moon is rife 
With some new theory of social 

life. 
Some matchless scheme ingen- 
iously designed 
From half "their miseries to free 

mankind ; 
On human wrongs triumphant 

war to wage, 
And bring anew the glorious golden 

age. 
"Association" is the magic word 
From many a social "priest and 

prophet ' ' heard, 



"Attractive Labor" is the angel 
given, 

To render earth a sublunary 
Heaven ! 

"Attractive Labor!" ring the 
changes round. 

And labor grows attractive in the 
sound ; 

And many a youthful mind, where 
haply lurk 

Unwelcomed fancies at the name of 
"work," 

Sees pleasant pastime in its long- 
ing view 

Of "toil made easy" and "at- 
tractive " too, 

And, fancy-rapt, with joyful ar- 
dor, turns 

Delightful grindstones and seduc- 
tive churns ! 

" Men are not bad," these social 
sages preach ; 

" Men are not what their actions 
seem to teach ; 

No moral ill is natural or fixed, — 

Men only err by being badly 
mixed! " 

To them the world a huge plum- 
pudding seems, 

Made up of richest viands, fruits, 
and creams. 

Which of all choice ingredients 
partook. 

And then was ruined by a blun- 
dering cook ! 

Inventive France ! what wonder- 
working schemes 

Astound the world whene'er a 
Frenchman dreams. 

What fine-spun theories, — ingen- 
ious, new. 

Sublime, stupendous, everything 
but true ! 

One little favor, " Imperial 
France " ! 

Still teach the world to cook, to 
dress, to dance; 



244 



PROGRESS. 



Let, if thou wilt, thy boots and 

barbers roam. 
But keep thy morals and thy 

creeds at home ! 



might the Muse prolong her 

flowing rhyme, 
(Too closely cramped by unrelent- 
ing Time, 
Whose dreadful scythe swings 

heedlessly along, 
And, missing speeches, clips the 

thread of song^ ) 
How would she strive, in fitting 

verse, to sing 
The wondrous Progress of the 

Printing King ! 
Bibles and Novels, Treatises and 

Songs, 
Lectures on "Rights," and Stric- 

lures upon Wrongs ; 
Verse in all metres, Travels in all 

climes, 
Rhymes without reason. Sonnets 

without rhymes ; 
" Translations from the French," 

so vilely done, 
The wheat escaping leaves the 

chaff alone ; 
Memoirs, where dunces sturdily 

essay 
To cheat Oblivion of her certain 

prey; 
Critiques, where pedants vaunt- 

ingly expose 
Unlicensed verses, in unlawful 

prose ; 
Lampoons, whose authors strive in 

vain to throw 
Their headless arrows from a 

nerveless bow; 
Poems by youths, who, crossing 

Nature's will. 
Harangue the landscape they were 

born to till; 
Huge tomes of Law, that lead by 

rugged routes 



Through ancient dogmas down to 
modern doubts; 

Where Judges oft, with well- 
affected ease. 

Give learned reasons for absurd 
decrees, 

Or, more ingenious still, contrive 
to found 

Some just decision on fallacious 
ground. 

Or bUnk the point, and, haply, in 
its place. 

Moot and decide some hypothetic 
case; 

Smart Epigrams, all sadly out of 
joint. 

And pointless, — save the " excla- 
mation point," 

^hich stands in state, with vacant 
wonder fraught. 

The pompous tombstone of some 
pauper thought , 

Ingenious systems based on doubt- 
ful facts, 

" Tracts for the Times," ana most 
untimely tracts ; 

Polemic Pamphlets, Literary Toys, 

And Easy Lessons for uneasy boys ; 

Hebdomadal Gazettes, and Daily 
News, 

Gay Magazines, and Quarterly 
Reviews; — 

Small portion these, of all the vast 
array 

Of darkened leaves that cloud each 
passing day, 

And pour their tide unceasingly 
along, 

A gathering, swelling, overwhelm- 
ing throng ! 



Cease, my Muse, nor, indis- j 

creet, prolong 
To epic length thy unambitious 

song. ] 

Good friends, be gentle to a maiden 

Muse, 



THE MONEY-KING. 



245 



Her errors parcron, and her faults 

excuse. 
Not uninvited to her task she 

came, 14 
To sue for favor, not to seek for 

fame. 
Be this, at least, her just though 

humble praise : 
No stale excuses heralded her lays, 
No singer's trick, — conveniently 

to bring 
A sudden cough, when importuned 

to sing ; 15 
No deprecating phrases, learned by 

rote, — 
"She'd quite forgot," or "never 

knew a note," — 
But to her task, with ready zeal, 

addressed 
Her earnest care, and aimed to do 

her best ; 
Strove to be just in each satiric 

Avord, 
To doubtful wit undoubted truth 

preferred. 
To please and profit equally has 

aimed, 
Nor been ill-natured even when 

she blamed. 



THE MONEY-KING. 

▲ POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OF 
YALE COLLEGE, 1854. 

As landsmen, sitting in luxurious 
ease. 

Talk of the dangers of the stormy 
seas ; 

As fireside travellers, with porten- 
tous mien, 



Tell tales of countries they have 
never seen ; 

As parlor-soldiers, graced with 
fancy-scars, 

Rehearse their bravery in im- 
agined wars ; 

As arrant dunces have been known 
to sit 

In grave discourse of wisdom and 
of wit; 

As paupers, gathered in congenial 
flocks. 

Babble of banks, insurances, and 
stocks ; 

As each is oftenest eloquent of 
what 

He hates or covets, but possesses 
not; — 

As cowards talk of pluck ; misers, 
of waste ; 

Scoundrels, of honor; country 
clowns, of taste; — 

I sing of Money ! — no ignoble 
theme, 

But loftier far than poetasters 
dream. 

Whose fancies, soaring to their 
native moon. 

Rise like a bubble or a gay bal- 
loon. 

Whose orb aspiring takes a heaven- 
ward flight. 

Just in proportion as it 's thin and 
light! 



Kings must have Poets. From 

the earliest times, 
Monarchs have loved celebrity in 

rhymes ; 
From good King Robert, who, in 

Petrarch's days. 
Taught to mankind the proper use 

of bays. 
And, singling out the prince of 

Sonneteers, 
Twmed wreaths of laurel round 

his blushing ears j 



246 



THE MONEY-KING. 



Down to the Qaeen, who, to her 

chosen bard. 
In annual token of her kind re- 

gard, 
bends not alone the old poetic 

greens, 
But, like a woman and the best of 

queens, 
Adds to the leaves, to keep them 

fresh and fine, 
The wholesome moisture of a pipe 

of wine ! — 
So may her minstrel, crowned with 

Voyal bays, 
Alternate praise her pipe and pipe 

her praise ! 
E'en let him chant his smooth, eu- 
phonious lays : 
A loftier theme my humbler Muse 

essays ; 
A mightier monarch be it hers to 

sing. 
And claim her laurel from the 

Money-King ! 

Great was King Alfred; and if 

history state 
His actions truly, good as well as 

great. 
Great was the Norman ; he whose 

martial hordes 
Taught law and order to the Saxon 

lords, 
With gentler thoughts their rug- 
ged minds imbued, 
And raised the nation whom he 

first subdued. 
Great was King Bess ! — I see the 

critic smile, 
As though the Muse mistook her 

proper style ; 
But to her purpose she will stoutly 

cling. 
The royal maid was "every inch 

a King" ! 
Great was Napoleon, — and I 

would that fate 



Might prove his namesake-nephew 

half as great ; 
Meanwhile this hint I venture to 

advance: — 
What France admires is good 

enough for France ! 
Great princes were they all; but 

greater far 
Than English King, or mighty 

Kussian Czar, 
Or Pope of Rome, or haughty 

Queen of Spain, 
Baron of Germany, or Roj'-al Dane, 
Or Gallic Emperor, or Persian 

Khan, 
Or any other merely mortal man. 
Is the great monarch that my 

Muse would sing, 
That mighty potentate, the Money- 
King! 
His kingdom vast extends o'er 

every land, 
And nations bow before his high 

command. 
The weakest tremble, and his 

power obey, 
The strongest honor, and confess 

his sway. 
He rules the" Rulers! — e'en the 

tyrant Czar 
Asks his permission ere he goes to 

war; 
The Turk, submissive to his royal 

might, 
By his decree has gracious leave 

to fight; 
Whilst e'en Britannia makes her 

humblest bow 
Before her Barmgs, not her Barons 

now. 
Or on the Rothschild suppliantly 

calls 
(Her affluent "uncle" with the 

golden balls). 
Begs of the Jew that he will kindly 

spare 
Enough to put her trident in re- 
pair, 



THE MONEY-KING. 



247 



And pawns her diamonds, while 

she humbly craves 
The Money- King's consent to 

"rule the waves! " 



He wears no crown upon his royal 

head, 
But many millions in his purse, in- 
stead ; 
He keeps no halls of state; but 

holds his court 
In dingy rooms where greed and 
I thrift resort ; 

'' In iron chests his wondrous wealth 

he hoards ; 
Banks are his parlors ; brokers are 

his lords. 
Bonds, bills, and mortgages, his 

favorite books. 
Gold is his food, and coiners are 

his cooks ; 
Ledgers his records; stock reports 

his news; 
Merchants his yeomen, and his 

bondsmen Jews ; 
Kings are his subjects, gamblers 

are his knaves, 
Spendthrifts his fools, and misers 

are his slaves ! 
The good, the bad, his golden 

favor prize. 
The high, the low, the simple, and 

the wise, 
The young, the old, the stately, 

and the gay, — 
All bow obedient to his royal 

sway! 
See where, afar, the bright Pacific 

shore 
Gleams in the sun with sands of 

shining ore. 
His last, great empire rises to the 

view, 
And shames the wealth of India 

and Peru! 
Here, throned within his gorgeous 

"golden gate," 



He wields his sceptre o'er the rising 

State ; 
Surveys his conquest with a joyful 

eye, 
Nor for a greater heaves a single 

sigh! 
Here, quite beyond the classic 

poet's dream, 
Pactolus runs in every winding 

stream ; 
The mountain cliffs the glittering 

ore enfold. 
And every reed that rustles whis- 
pers, "Gold!" 



If to his sceptre some dishonor 

clings. 
Why should we marvel ? — 't is the 

fate of kings ! 
Their power too oft perverted by 

abuse. 
Their manners cruel, or their 

morals loose, 
The best at times have wandered 

far astray 
From simple Virtue's unseductive 

way ; 
And few, of all, at once could make 

pretence 
To royal robes and rustic inno- 



He builds the house where Chris- 
tian people pray. 

And rears a bagnio just across the 
way; 

Pays to the priest his stinted an- 
nual fee ; 

Rewards the lawyer for his venal 
plea; 

Sends an apostle to the heathen's 
aid; 

And cheats the Choctaws, for the 
good of trade ; 

Lifts by her heels an Ellsler to re- 
nown. 



248 



THE MONEY-KING. 



Or, bribing "Jenny," brings an 

angel down ! 
He builds the Theatres and 

gambling Halls, 
Lloyds and Almacks St. Peter's 

and St. Paul's ; 
Sin's gay retreats and Fashion's 

gilded rooms, 
Hotels and Factories, Palaces and 

Tombs ; 
Bids Commerce spread her wings 

to every gale : 
Bends to the breeze the pirate's 

bloody sail ; 
Helps Science seek new worlds 

among the stars ; 
Profanes our own with mercenary 

wars; 
The friend of wrong, the equal 

friend of right. 
Oft may we bless and oft deplore 

his might. 
As buoyant hope or darkening 

fears prevail. 
And good or evil turns the moral 

scale. 



All fitting honor I would fain 

accord. 
Whene'er he builds a temple to 

the Lord ; 
But much I grieve he often spends 

his pelf, 
As it were raised in honor of him- 
self; 
Or, what were worse, and more 

profanely odd, 
A place to woi'ship some Egyptian 

god! 
I wish his favorite architects were 

graced 
With sounder judgment, and a 

Christian taste. 
Immortal Wren! what fierce, 

convulsive shocks 
Would jar thy bones within their 

leaden box, 



Couldst thou but look across the 
briny spray, 

And see some churches of the 
present day ! — 

The lofty dome of consecrated 
bricks. 

Where all the "orders" in disor- 
der mix. 

To form a temple whose incongru- 
ous frame 

Confounds design and puts the 
Arts to shame ! 

Where " styles " discordant on the 
vision jar. 

Where Greek and Roman are again 
at war, 

And, as of old, the unrelenting Goth 

Comes down at last and over- 
whelms them both ! 



Once on a time I heard a parson say 
(Talking of churches in a sprightly 

way). 
That there was more Eeligion in 

the walls 
Of towering "Trinity," or grand 

"St. Paul's," 
Than one could find, upon the 

strictest search. 
In half the saints within the Chris- 
tian Church ! 
A layman sitting at the parson's 

side 
To this new dogma thus at once 

replied : 
"If, as you say. Religion has her 

home 
In the mere walls that form the 

sacred dome, 
It seems to me the very plainest 

case. 
To climb the steeple were a growth 

in grace; 
And he to whom the pious strength 

were given 
To reach the highest were the 

nearest Heaven! " 



THE MONEY-KING. 



249 



1 thought the answer just; and yet 

't is clear 
A solemn aspect, grand and yet 

severe, 
Becomes the house of God. 'T is 

hard to say 
Who from the proper mark are 

most astray, — 
They who erect, for holy Christian 

rites, 
A gay Pagoda with its tinsel lights. 
Or they who offer to the God of 

Love 
A gorgeous Temple of the pagan 

Jove! 



Immortal Homer and Tassoni sing 
What vast results from trivial 

causes spring; 
How naughty Helen by her stolen 

joy 
Brought woe and ruin to unhappy 

Troy; 
How, for a bucket, rash Bologna 

sold 
More blood and tears than twenty 

such could hold ! 
Thy power, Money, shows re- 
sults as strange 
As aught revealed in History's 

widest range ; 
Thy smallest coin of shining silver 

shows 
More potent magic than a conjurer 

knows ! 
In olden times, — if classic poets 

say 
The simple truth, as poets do to- 
day, — 
When Charon's boat conveyed a 

spirit o'er 
The Lethean water to the Hadean 

shore. 
The fare was just a penny, — not 

too great, 
The moderate, regular, Stygian 

statute rate. 



Now, for a shilling, he will cross 

the stream, 
(His paddles whirling to the force 

of steam ! ) 
And bring, obedient to some wizard 

power. 
Back to the Earth more spirits in 

an hour 
Than Brooi^lyn's famous ferry 

could convey, 
Or thine, Hoboken, in the longest 

day! 
Time was when men bereaved of 

vital breath 
Were calm and silent in the realms 

of Death ; 
When mortals dead and decently 

inurned 
Were heard no more ; no traveller 

returned, 
Who once had crossed the dark 

Plutonian strand. 
To whisper secrets of the spirit- 
land, — 
Save when perchance some sad, 

unquiet soul 
Among the tombs might wander 

on parole, — 
A well-bred ghost, at night's be- 
witching noon, 
Returned to catch some glimpses 

of the moon. 
Wrapt in a mantle of unearthly 

white 
(The only '' rapping of an ancient 

sprite). 
Stalked round in silence till the 

break of day. 
Then from the Earth passed un- 

perceived away. 
Now all is changed : the musty 

maxim fails. 
And dead men do repeat the queer- 
est tales 1 
Alas, that here, a in the books, 

we see 
The travellers clash, the doctors 

disagree I 



250 



THE MONEY-RING. 



Alas, that all, the farther they ex- 
plore, 

For all their search are but con- 
fused the more ! 
Ye great departed ! — men of 
mighty mark, — 

Bacon and Newton, Adams, Adam 
Clarke, 

Edwards and Whitefield, Franklin, 
Robert Hall, 

Calhoun, Clay, Channing, Daniel 
Webster, — all 

Ye great quit-tenants of this earth- 
ly ball, — 

If in your new abodes ye cannot 
rest. 

But must return, 0, grant us this 
request: 

Come with a noble and celestial air. 

To prove your title to the names 
ye bear! 

Give some clear token of your 
heavenly birth. 

Write as good English as ye wrote 
on earth ! 

Show not to all, in ranting prose 
and verse. 

The spirit's progress is from bad to 
worse ; 

And, what were once superfluous 
to advise, 

Don't tell, I beg you, such egre- 
gious lies; 

Or if perchance your agents are to 
blame. 

Don't let them trifle with your 
honest fame ; 

Let chairs and tables rest, and 
"rap" instead. 

Ay, " knock " your slippery " Me- 
diums " on the head \ 

What direful woes the hapless man 

attend, 
Who in the means sees life's su- 

premest end ; 
The wretched miser, — money's 

sordid slave, — 



His only joy to gather and to save. 
For this he wakes at morning's 

early light. 
Toils through the day, and ponders 

in the night; 
For this, — to swell his heap of 

tarnished gold, — 
Sweats in the sun, and shivers in 

the cold. 
And suffers more from hunger 

every day 
Than the starved beggar whom he 

spurns away. 
Death comes erewhile to end his 

worldly strife; 
With all his saving he must lose 

his life! 
Perchance the doctor might pro- 
tract his breath. 
And stay the dreadful messenger 

of death ; 
But none is there to comfort or ad- 



vise; 
'T would cost a dollar;- 
miser dies. 



so the 



Sad is the sight when Money's 

power controls 
In wedlock's chains the fate of 

human souls. 
From mine to mint, curst is the 

coin that parts 
In helpless grief two loving human 

hearts ; 
Or joins in discord, jealousy, and 

hate, 
A sordid suitor to a loathing mate. 
I waive the case, the barren 

case, of those 
Who have no hearts to cherish or 

to lose ; 
Whose wedded state is but a bar- 
gain made 
In due accordance with the laws 

of trade. 
When the prim parson joins their 

willing hands, 



THE MONEY-KINU. 



251 



I 



To marry City lots to Western 
lands, 

Or in connubial ecstasy to mix 

Cash and "collateral," ten-per- 
cents with six. 

And in the "patent safe" of Hy- 
men locks 

Impassioned dollars with ena- 
moured stocks. 

Laugh if you will, — and who can 
well refrain? — 

But waste no tears, nor pangs of 
pitying pain ; 

Hearts such as these may play the 
queerest pranks. 

But never break, — except with 
breaking banks. 

Yet, let me hint, a thousand 
maxims prove 

Plutus may be the truest friend to 
Love. 

"Love in a cottage" cosily may 
dwell, 

But much prefers to have it fur- 
nished well. 

A parlor ample, and a kitchen snug, 

A handsome carpet, an embroid- 
ered rug, 

A well-stored pantry, and a tidy 
maid, 

A blazing hearth, a cooling win- 
dow-shade. 

Though merely mortal, money- 
purchased things, 

Have wondrous power to clip 
Love's errant wings ! 
"Love in a cottage" isn't just 
the same 

When wind and water strive to 
quench his flame; 

Too oft it breeds the sharpest dis- 
content. 

That puzzling question, " How to 
pay the rent "; 

A smoky chimney may alone suffice 

To dim the radiance of the fondest 



A northern blast, beyond the slight- 
est doubt. 

May fairly blow the torch of Hy- 
men out ; 

And I have heard a worthy matron 
hold 

(As one who knew the truth of 
what she told). 

Love once was drowned, though 
reckoned waterproof, 

By the mere dripping of a leaky 
roof! 



Full many a wise philosopher 
has tried 

Mankind in fitting orders to divide; 

And by their forms, their fashions, 
and their face. 

To group, assort, and classify the 
race. 

One would distinguish people by 
their books ; 

Another, quaintly, solely by their 
cooks; 

And one, who graced the philo- 
sophic bench. 

Found these three classes, — *' wo- 
men, men, and French ! " 

The best remains, of aU that I 
have known, 

A broad distinction, brilliant, and 
my own: 

Of all mankind, I classify the 
lot. 

Those who have Money, and those 
who have not I 

Think' st thou the line a poet's 

fiction V — then 
Go look abroad upon the ways of 

men! 
Go ask the banker, with his golden 

seals ; 
Go ask the borrower, cringing at 

his heels ; 
Go ask the maid, who, emulous of 

woe. 



252 



THE MONEY-KING. 



Discards the worthier for the 

wealthier beau ; 
Go ask the parson, when a higher 

prize 
Points with the salary where his 

duty lies ; 
Go ask the lawyer, who, in legal 

smoke, 
Stands, like a stoker, redolent of 

" Coke," 
And swings his arms to emphasize 

a plea 
Made doubly rodent by a golden 

fee; 
Go ask the doctor, who has kindly 

sped 
Old Croesus, dying on a damask 

bed. 
While his poor neighbor — wonder- 
ful to tell — 
Was left to Natui-e, suffered, and 

got well ! 
Go ask the belle, in high patrician 

pride, 
Who spurns the maiden nurtured 

at her side. 
Her youth's loved playmate at the 

village-school. 
Ere changing fortune taught the 

rigid rule 
Which marks the loftier from the 

lowlier lot, — 
Those who have money from those 

who have not ! 

Of all the ills that owe their 

baneful rise 
To wealth o'ergi*own, the most 

despotic vice 
Is Circean Luxury ; prolific dame 
Of mental impotence and moral 

shame, 
And all the cankering evils that 

debase 
The human form and dwarf the 

human race. 
See yon strange figure, and a 

moment scan 



That slenderest sample of the 

genus man ! 
Mark, as he ambles, those precax 

rious pegs 
Which by their motion must be 

deemed his legs ! 
He has a head, — one may be sure 

of that 
By just observing that he wears a 

hat; 
That he has arms is logically 

plain 
From his wide coat-sleeves and his 

pendent cane ; 
A tongue as well, — the inference 

is fair. 
Since, on occasion, he can lisp and 

swear. 
You ask his use ? — that 's not so 

very clear, 
Unless to spend five thousand 

pounds a year 
In modish vices which his soul 

adores, 
Drink, dress, and gaming, horses, 

hounds, and scores 
Of other follies which I can't re- 
hearse. 
Dear to himself and dearer to his 

purse. 



No product he of Fortune's 

fickle dice. 
The due result of Luxury and 

Vice, 
Three generations have suflJced to 

bring 
That narrow-chested, pale, ener- 
vate thing 
Down from a man, — for, marvel 

as you will, 
His huge great-grandsire fought on 

Bunker Hill ! 
Bore, without gloves, a musket 

through the war ; 
Came back adorned with many a 

noble scar; 



THE MONEY-KING. 



253 



Labored and prospered at a thriv- 
ing rate, 

And, dying, left his heir a snug 
estate, — 

Which grew apace upon his busy- 
hands, 

Stocks, ships, and factories, tene- 
ments and lands. 

All here at last, — the money and 
the race, — 

The latter ending in that foolish 
face; 

The former wandering, far beyond 
his aim, 

Back to the rough plebeians whence 
it came ! 



Enough of censure ; let ray hum- 
ble lays 

Employ one moment in congenial 
praise. 

Let other pens with pious ardor 
paint 

The selfish virtues of the cloistered 
saint ; 

In lettered marble let the stranger 
read 

Of him who, dying, did a worthy 
deed, 

And left to charity the cherished 
store 

Which, to his sorrow, he could 
hoard no more. 

I venerate the nobler man who 
gives 

His generous dollars while the do- 
nor lives ; 

Gives with a heart as liberal as 
the palms 

That to the needy spread his hon- 
ored alms ; 

Gives with a head whose yet un- 
clouded light 

To worthiest objects points the 
giver's siglit; 

Gives with a hand still potent to 
enforce 



His well-aimed bounty, and direct 

its course ; — 
Such is the giver who must stand 

ccnfest 
In giving glorious, and supremely 

blest! 
One such as this the captious 

world could find 
In noble Perkins, angel of the 

blind; 
One such as this in princely Law- 
rence shone, 
Ere heavenly kindred claimed him 

for their own ! 



To me the boon may graciou: 
Heaven assign, — 

No cringing suppliant at Mam- 
mon's shrine, 

Nor slave of Poverty, — with joy 
to share 

The happy mean expressed in 
Agur's prayer: — 

A house (my own) to keep me 
safe and warm, 

A shade in sunshine, and a shield 
in storm ; 

A generous board, and fitting rai- 
ment, clear 

Of debts and duns throughout the 
circling year ; 

Silver and gold, in moderate store, 
that I 

May purchase joys that only thes^ 
can buy; 

Some gems of art, a cultured mind 
to please. 

Books, pictures, statues, literary 
ease. 

That " Time is Money " prudent 
Franklin shows 

In rhyming couplets and senten- 
tious prose. 

0, had he taught the world, in 
prose and rhyme, 

The higher truth tliat Money may 
be Time! 



254 



THE MONEY-KING. 



And showed the people, in his 

pleasant ways, 
The art of coining dollars into 

days! 
Days for improvement, days for 

social life, 
Days for your God, your children, 

and you|^wife; 
Some days for pleasure, and an 

hour to spend 
In genial converse with an honest 

friend. 
Such days be mine ! — and gi-ant 

me, Heaven, but this. 
With blooming health, man's high- 
est earthly bliss, — 



And I will read, v/ithout a sigh or 

frown, 
The startling news that stocks are 

going down ; 
Hear without envy that a stranger 

hoards 
Or spends more treasure than a 

mint affords ; 
See my next neighbor pluck a 

golden plum, 
Calm and content within my cot- 
tage-home ; 
Take for myself what honest thrift 

may bring. 
And for his kindness biess the 

Money-King! 



EXOEEPTS FEOM OOOASIOlSrAL 
POEMS. 



f 



EXCERPTS FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



EL DORADO. 

Let others, dazzled by the shin- 
ing ore, 

Delve in the dirt to gather golden 
store. 

Let others, patient of the menial 
toil 

And daily suffering, seek the pre- 
cious spoil; 

No hero I, in such a cause to 
brave 

Hunger and pain, the robber and 
the grave. 

I'll work, instead, exempt from 
hate and harm, 

The fruitful "placers" of my 
mountain-farm, 

Where the bright ploughshare 
opens richest veins. 

From whence shall issue countless 
golden grains, 

Which in the fulness of the year 
shall come, 

In bounteous sheaves, to bless my 
harvest-home ! 

But, haply, good may come of 

mining yet: 
'T will help to pay the nation's 

foreign debt; 
'T will further liberal arts; plate 

rings and pins. 
Gild books and coaches, mirrors-, 

signs, and sins ; 



'T will cheapen pens and pencils, 
and perchance 

May give us honest dealing for 
Finance! 

(That magic art, unknown to 
darker times 

When fraud and falsehood were 
reputed crimes, 

Whose cui'ious laws with nice pre- 
cision teach 

How whole estates are made from 
parts of speech; 

How lying rags for honest coin 
shall pass, 

And foreign gold be paid in native 
brass ! ) 

'T will save, perhaps, each deep- 
indebted State 

From all temptation to " repudi- 
ate," 

Till Time restore our precious 
credit lost. 

And hush the wail of Peter Plym- 
ley's ghost! is 



THE GOOD TIME COMING. 

While drones and dreaming opti- 
mists protest, 

" The worst is well, and all is for 
the best"; 



258 



THE LIBRARY. 



And sturdy croakers chant the 

counter song, 
That " man grows worse, and 

everything is wrong " ; 
Truth, as of old, still loves a golden 

mean, 
And shuns extremes to walk erect 

between ! 
The world improves; with slow, 

unequal pace, 
"The Good Time's coming" to 

our hapless race. 
The general tide beneath the reflu- 
ent surge 
Rolls on, resistless, to its destined 

verge ! 
Unfriendly hills no longer inter- 
pose 17 
As stubborn walls to geographic 

foes, 
Nor envious streams run only to 

divide 
The hearts of brethren ranged on 

either side. 
Promethean Science, with untiring 

eye 
Searching the mysteries of. the 

earth and sky; 
And cunning Art, with strong and 

plastic hand 
To work the marvels Science may 

command ; 
And broad-winged Commerce, 

swift to carry o'er 
Earth's countless blessings to her 

farthest shore, — 
These, and no German nor Gene- 
van sage. 
These are the great reformers of 

the age ! 



See Art, exultant in her stately 
car, 

On Nature's Titans wage trium- 
phant war ! 

While e'en the Lightnings by her 
wondrous skill 



Are tamed for heralds of her sov- 
ereign will ! 

Old Ocean's breast a new invader 
feels, 

And heaves in vain to clog her iron 
wheels ; 

In vain the P'orests marshal all 
their force, 

And Mountains rise to stay her on- 
ward course : 

From out her path each bold op- 
poser hurled. 

She throws her girdle round a cap- 
tive world! 



THE POWER-PRESS. 

Strange is the sound when first 
the notes begin 

Where human voices blend with 
Vulcan's din; 

The click, the clank, the clangor, 
and the sound 

Of rattling rollers in their rapid 
round ; 

The whizzing belt, the sharp me- 
tallic jar. 

Like clashing spears in fierce chiv- 
alric war; 

The whispering birth of myriad 
flying leaves. 

Gathered, anon, in countless mot- 
ley sheaves, 

Then scattered far, as on the 
winged wind. 

The mortal nurture of th' immor- 
tal mind ! 



THE LIBRARY. 

Here, e'en the sturdy democrat 

may find. 
Nor scorn their rank, the nobles of 

the mind ; 



THE NEWS. 



259 



I 



While kings may learn, nor blush 
at being shown, 

How Learning's patents abrogate 
their own. 

A goodly company and fair to 
see; 

Royal plebeians ; earls of low de- 
gree; 

Beggars whose wealth enriches 
every clime ; 

Princes who scarce can boast a 
mental dime 

Crowd here together, like the quaint 
array 

Of jostling neighbors on a market 
day. 

Homer and Milton, — can we call 
them blind ? — 

Of godlike sight, the vision of the 
mind; 

Shakespeare, who calmly looked 
creation through, 

"Exhausted worlds, and then im- 
agined new"; 

Plato the sage, so thoughtful and 
serene, 

He seems a prophet by his heaven- 
ly mien; 

Shrewd Socrates, whose philosoph- 
ic power 

Xantippe proved in many a trying 
hour ; 

And Aristophanes, whose humor 
run 

In vain endeavor to be-" cloud" 
the sun ; 18 

Majestic ^Eschylus, whose glowing 
page 

Holds half the grandeur of the 
Athenian stage; 

Pindar, whose odes, replete with 
heavenly fire. 

Proclaim the master of the Grecian 
lyre; 

Anacreon, famed for many a lus- 
cious line 

Pevote to Venus and the god of 
win«» 



I I love vast libraries ; yet there is a 

doubt 
If one be better with them or with> 

out, — 
Unless he use them wisely, and, 

indeed, 
Knows the high art of what and 

how to read. 
At Learning's fountain it is sweet 

to drink, 
But ' t is a nobler privilege to think ; 
And oft, from books apart, the 

thirsting mind 
May make the nectar which it 

cannot find. 
' T is well to borrow from the good 

and great; 
'T is wise to learn; 'tis godlike t<t 

create ! 



THE NEWS. 

The News, indeed ! — pray do you 

call it news 
When shallow noddles publish 

shallow views ? 
Pray, is it news that turnips 

should be bred 
As large and hollow as the owner's 

head ? 
News, that a clerk should rob his 

master's hoard. 
Whose meagre salary scarcely 

pays his board? 
News, that two knaves, their spu- 
rious friendship o'er, 
Should tell the truths which they 

concealed before? 
News, that a maniac, weary of his 

life. 
Should end his sorrows with a rope 

or knife ? 
News, that a wife should violate 

the vows 



260 



THE EDITORS SANCTUM. 



That bind her, loveless, to a tyrant 
spouse ? 

News, that a daughter cheats pa- 
ternal rule. 

And weds a scoundrel to escape a 
fool? — 

The news, indeed ! — Such mat- 
ters are as old 

As sin and folly, rust and must 
and mould ! 



THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 

Scene, — a third story in a dis- 
mal court, 

Where weary printers just at eight 
resort; 

A dingy door that with a rattle 
shuts ; 

Heaps of "Exchanges," much 
adorned with " cuts " ; 

Pens, paste, and paper on the ta- 
ble strewed ; 

Books, to be read when they have 
been reviewed ; 

Pamphlets and tracts so very dull 
indeed 

That only they who wrote them 
e'er will" read; 

Nine letters, touching themes of 
every sort. 

And one with money, — just a 
shilling short, — 

Lie scattered round upon a com- 
mon level. 

Persons, — the Editor; enter, 
now, the Devil : — 

"Please, sir, since this 'ere article 
was wrote. 

There 's later news perhaps you 'd 
like to quote : 

The Rebels storming with prodi- 
gious force, 



'Sumter has fallen!'" "Set it 

up, of course." 
"And, sir, that murder's done-~ 

there 's only left 
One larceny." " Pray don't 

omit the theft." 
"And, sir, about the mob — the 

matter's fat" — 
" The mob V — that 's wrong — 

pray just distribute that." 
Exit the imp of Faust, and enter 

now 
A fierce subscriber with a scowling 

brow. 
" Sir, curse your paper ! — send the 

thing" to — " Well, 
The place he names were impo- 
lite to tell; 
Enough to know the hero of the 

Press 
Cries: " Thomas, change the gen- 
tleman's address! 
We '11 send the paper, if the post 

will let it. 
Where the subscriber will be sure 

to get it ! " 



Who would not be an Editor? — 
To write 

The magic "we" of such enor- 
mous might; 

To be so great beyond the common 
span 

It takes the plural to express the 
man; 

And yet, alas, it happens often- 
times 

A unit serves to number all his 
dimes! 

But don't despise him; there may 
chance to be 

An earthqiiake lurking in his 
simple " we" ! 
In the close precincts of a dusty 
room 

That owes few losses to the lazy 
broom. 



THE EDITORS SANCTUM. 



261 



There sits the man; you do not 

know his name, 
Brown, Jones, or Johnson, — it is 

all the same, — 
Scribbling away at what perchance 

may seem 
An idler's musing, or a dreamer's 

dream ; 
His pen runs rambling, like a stray- 
ing steed ; 
The "we" he writes seems very 

"wee " indeed; 
But mark the change ; behold the 

wondrous power 
Wrought by the Press in one 

eventful hour; 



To-night, 'tis harmless as a maid- 
en's rhymes; 

To-morrow, thunder in the Lon- 
don Times! 

The ministry dissolves that hell 
for years ; 

Her Grace, the Duchess, is dis • 
solved in tears ; 

The Rothschilds quail ; the church, 
the army, quakes ; 

The very kingdom to its centre 
shakes ; 

The Corn Laws fall; the price of 
bread comes down, — 

Thanks to the " we " of Johnson, 
Jones, or Brown ! 






TRAVESTIES. 



TRAVESTIES 



ICAEUS. 



All modem themes of poesy are spun so very fine, 

That now the most amusing muse, e gratia, such as mine, 

Is often forced to cut the thread that strings our recent rhymes, 

And try the stronger staple of the good old classic times. 



There lived and flourished long ago, in famous Athens town, 
One Dcedalus, a carpenter of genius and renown; 
('T was he who with an auger taught mechanics how to bore, 
An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) 



His only son was Icarus, a most precocious lad, 

The pride of Mrs. Daedalus, the image of his dad; 

And while he yet was in his teens such progi-ess he had made. 

He 'd got above his father's size, and much above his trade. 



Now Dcedalus, the carpenter, had made a pair of wings. 
Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, 
By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height. 
And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite ! 



"0 father," said young Icarus, "how I should lifce to fly! 
And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky; 
How very charming it would be above the moon to climb. 
And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time! 



266 ICARUS. 



" would n't it be jolly, though, — to stop at all the inns; 
To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and tipple at ' The Twins ' ; 
And, just for fun and fanc}'^, while careering through the air. 
To kiss the Virgin, tease the Ram, and bait tiie biggest Bear ? 



" O father, please to let me go! " was still the urchin's cry; 
" I '11 be extremely careful, sir, and won't go ve^-y high; 

if this little pleasure-trip you only will allow, 

1 promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow ! " 

VIII. 

" You 're rather young," said Deedalus, " to tempt the upper air; 
But take the Avings, and mind your eye with very special care; 
And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star; 
Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far! " 



He took the wings — that foolish boy — without the least dismay; 
His father stuck 'em on with wax, and so he soared away; 
Up, up he rises, like a bird, and not a moment stops 
Until he 's fairly out of sight beyond the mountain-tops! 



And still he flies — away — away ; it seems the merest fun ; 
No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun; 
No marvel he forgets his sire; it is n't very odd 
That one so far above the earth should think himself a god ! 



Already, in his silly pride, he 's gone too far aloft; 
The heat begins to scorch his wings; the wax is waxing soft; 
Down — down he goes ! — Alas ! — next day poor Icarus was found 
Afloat upon the iEgean Sea, extremely damp and drowned ! 



The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all: — 
Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall; 
Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncertain things; 
And never try to scale the sky with other people's wings ! 



PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 



267 



PYEAMUS AND THISBE. 

This tragical tale, which, they say, 
is a true one, 

Is old, but the manner is wholly a 
new one. 

One Ovid, a writer of some reputa- 
tion. 

Has told it before in a tedious nar- 
ration ; 

In a style, to be sure, of remark- 
able fulness. 

But which nobody reads on ac- 
count of its dulness. 

Young Peter Pyramus, /call hira 
Peter, 

Not for the sake of the rhyme or 
metre. 

But merely to make the name com- 
pleter, — 

For Peter lived in the olden times. 

And in one of the worst of Pagan 
climes 

That flourish now in classical fame. 
Long before 
Either noble or boor 

Had such a thing as a Christian 
name, — 

Young Peter then was a nice young 
beau 

As any young lady would wish to 
know ; 
In years, I ween. 
He was rather green, 

That is to say, he was just eigh- 
teen, — 

A trifle too short, and a shaving 
too lean. 

But " a nice young man " as ever 
was seen. 

And fit to dance with a May-day 
queen ! 

Now Peter loved a beautiful girl 
As ever ensnared the heart of an 

earl 
In the magical trap of an auburn 

curl, — 



A little Miss Thisbe who lived next 
door, 

(They slept in fact on the very 
same floor. 

With a wall between them, and 
nothing more. 

Those double dwellings were com- 
mon of yore, ) 

And they loved each other, the 
legends say. 

In that very beautiful, bountiful 
way 
That every young maid, 
And every young blade. 

Are wont to do before they grow 
staid. 

And learn to love by the laws of 
trade. 

But alack-a-day for the girl and 
boy, 

A little impediment checked their 
joy, 

And gave them, awhile, the deep- 
est annoy. 

For some good reason, which his- 
tory cloaks. 

The match did n't happen to please 
the old folks ! 

So Thisbe' s father and Peter's 

mother 
Began the young couple to worry 

and bother. 
And tried their innocent passions 

to smother 
By keeping the lovers from seeing 
each other ! 
But whoever heard 
Of a marriage deterred, 
Or even deferred. 
By any contrivance so very absurd 
As scolding the boy, and caging 
his bird? 

Now Peter, who wasn't dis- 
couraged at all 

By obstacles such as the timid ap- 
pall, 



268 



PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 



Contrived to discover a hole in the 

wall, 
Which was n't so thick 
But removing a brick 
Made a passage, — though rather 

provokinglv small. 
Through this little chink the lover 

could greet her, 
And secrecy made their courting 

the sweeter, 
'iV'hile Peter kissed Thisba and 

Thisbe kissed Peter, — 
For kisses, like folks with diminu- 
tive souls, 
Will manage to creep through the 

smallest of holes ! 

'T was here that the lovers, intent 
upon love, 
Laid a nice little plot 
To meet at a spot 
Near a mulberry-tree in a neigh- 
boring grove ; 
For the plan was all laid 
By the youth and the maid, 
(Whose hearts, it would seem, were 

uncommonly bold ones, ) 
To run off and get married in spite 
of the old ones. 

In the shadows of evening, as still 

as a mouse. 
The beautiful maiden slipt out of 

the house, 
The mulberry-tree impatient to 

find. 
While Peter, the vigilant matrons 

to blind. 
Strolled leisurely out some minutes 

behind. 
While waiting alone by the tryst- 

ing tree, 
A terrible lion 
As e'er you set eye on 
Came roaring along quite horrid to 

see. 
And caused the young maiden in 

terror to flee, 



(A lion 's a creature whose regular 

trade is 
Blood, — and " a terrible thing 

among ladies,") 
And losing her veil as she ran from 

the wood. 
The monster bedabbled it over with 

blood. 

Now Peter arriving, and seeing 

the veil 
All covered o'er 
And reeking with goiC, 
Turned all of a sudden exceedingly 

pale, 
And sat himself down to weep and 

to wail, — 
For, soon as he saw the garment, 

poor Peter 
Made up in his mind, in very short 

metre, 
That Thisbe was dead, and the 

lion had eat her ! 
So breathing a prayer, 
He determined to share 
The fate of his darling, " the loved 

and the lost," 
And fell on his dagger, and gave 

up the ghost ! 

Now Thisbe returning, and view- 
ing her beau. 

Lying dead by the veil (which she 
happened to know). 

She guessed, in a moment, the 
cause of his erring. 
And seizing the knife 
Which had taken his life. 

In less than a jiffy was dead as 
a herring ! 



Young gentlemen ! pray recollect^ 

if you please. 
Not to make assignations near 

mulberry-trees ; 



THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. 



269 



Should your mistress be missing, 
it shows a weak head 

To be stabbing yourself till you 
know she is dead. 

Young ladies! you shouldn't go 

strolling about 
When your anxious mammas don't 

know you are out, 
And remember that accidents often 

befall 
From kissing yoimg fellows 

through holes in the wall. 



THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. 

King Midas, prince of Phrygia, 

several thousand years ago, 
Was a very worthy monarch, as 

the classic annals show; 
You may read 'em at your leisure, 

when you have a mind to doze. 
In the finest Latin verses, or in 

choice Hellenic prose. 

Now this notable old monarch, 

King of Phrygia, as aforesaid 
(Of whose royal state and character 

there might be vastly more 

said), 
Though he occupied a palace, kept 

a very open door, 
And had still a ready welcome for 

the stranger and the poor. 

Now it chanced that old Silenus, 

who, it seems, had lost his way. 
Following Bacchus through the 

forest, in the pleasant month of 

May 
Which was n't very singular, for at 

the present day 
The followers of Bacchus very often 

go astray), 



Came at last to good King Midas, 

who received him in liis court, 
Gave him comfortable lodgings, 

and — to cut the matter short — 
With as much consideration treated 

weary old Silenus, 
As if the entertainment were for 

Mercury or Venus. 

Now when Bacchus heard the story, 

he proceeded to the king, 
And says he: " By old Silenus you 

have done the"^handsome thing; 
He 's my much-respected tutor, 

who has taught me how to read, 
And I 'm sure your royal kindness 

should receive its proper meed ; 

" So I grant you full permission to 
select your own reward. 

Choose a gift to suit your fancy, — 
something worthy of a lord! " 

" Bully Bacche ! " cried the mon- 
arch, "if I do not make too 
bold. 

Let whatever I may handle be 
transmuted into gold! " 

Midas, sitting down to dinner, 

sees the answer to his wish. 
For the turbot on the platter turns 

into a golden fish I 
And the bread between his fingers 

is no longer wheaten bread. 
But the slice he tries to swallow is 

a wedge of gold instead ! 

And the roast he takes for mutton 

fills his mouth with golden meat. 
Very tempting to the vision, but 

"^extremely hard to eat; 
And the liquor in his goblet, very 

rare, select, and old, 
Down the monarch'sthirsty throttle 

runs a stream of liquid gold ! 



270 



PHAETHON. 



Quite disgusted with his dining, he 

betakes him to his bed: 
But, alas ! the golden pillow does 

n't rest his weary head 
Nor does all the gold around him 

soothe the monarch's tender 

skin; 
Golden sheets, to sleepy mortals, 

might as well be sheets of tin. 

Now poor Midas, straight repenting 

of his rash and foolish choice, 
Went to Bacchus, and assured him, 

in a very plaintive voice, 
That his golden gift was working in 

a manner most unpleasant, — 
And the god, in sheer compassion, 

took away the fatal present. 



By this mythologic story we are 

very plainly told. 
That, though gold may have its 

uses, there are better things 

than gold ; 
That a man may sell his freedom 

to procure the shining pelf; 
And that Avarice, though it prosper, 

still contrives to cheat itself. 



PHAETHON; 

OR, THE AMATEUR COACHMAN. 

Dan Phaethon — so the histories 

run — 
Was a jolly young chap, and a son 

of the Sun, — 
Or rather of Phoebus; but as to 

his mother, 
Genealogists make a deuce of a 

pother, 



Some going for one, and some for 
another. 

For myself, 1 must say, as a care- 
ful explorer, 

This roaring young blade was the 
son of Aurora ! 



Now old Father Phoebus, ere rail- 
ways begun 

To elevate funds and depreciate 
fun. 

Drove a very fast coach by the 
name of " The Sun " ; 
Punning, they say, 
Trips every day 

(On Sundays and all, in a heathen- 
ish way), 

All lighted up with a famous 
array 

Of lanterns that shone with a bril- 
liant display, 

And dashing along like a gentle- 
man's "shay," 

With never a fare, and nothing to 



pay! 
*haetl 



Now Phaethon begged of his dot- 
ing old father 

To grant him a favor, and this the 
rather, 

Since some one had hinted, the 
youth to annoy, 

That he was n't by any means 
Phoebus's boy! 

Intending, the rascally son of a 
gun, 

To darken the brow of the son of 
the Sun ! 

" By the terrible Styx! " said th«j 
angry sire, 

While his eyes flashed volumes of 
fury and fire, 

" To prove your reviler an in- 
famous liar, 

I swear I will grant you whate'er 
you desire ! ' ' 
" Then by my head," 
The youngster said, 



PHAETHON. 



271 



•' I '11 mount the coach when the 

horses are fed ! — 
For there 's nothing 1 'd choose, as 

I 'm alive, 
Like a seat on the box, and a 
dashing drive! " 
"Nay, Phaethon, don't, — 
I beg' you won't, — 
Just stop' a moment and think 

tupon't!" 
"You 're quite too young," con- 
tinued the sage, 
•' To tend a coach at your tender 
age! 
Besides, you see, 
'T will really be 
Your first appearance on any 

K stage ! 

Desist, my child, 
The cattle are wild. 
And when their mettle is thor- 
oughly 'riled,' 
Depend upon 't the coach '11 be 

' spiled,' — 
They 're not the fellows to draw it 

■ mild ! 

, Desist, I say, 

" You '11 rue the day, — 

So mind, and don't be foolish, 
Pha!" 
But the youth was proud. 
And swore aloud, 
'T was just the thing to astonish 

the crowd, — 
He'd have the horses and would 

n't be cowed! 
In vain the boy was cautioned at 

large. 
He called for the chargers, unheed- 
ing the charge. 
And vowed that any young fellow 

of force 
Could manage a dozen coursers, 

of course ! 
Now Phoebus felt exceedingly 

sorry 
He had given his word in such a 
hurry, 



But having sworn by the Styx, no 
doubt 

He was in for it now, and could n't 
back out. 

So calling Phaethon up in a trice. 

He gave the youth a bit of ad- 
vice: — 
" Parce stimulisj utere loris ! " 

(A 'stage direction,' of which the 
core is, 

Don't use the whip, — they 're 
ticklish things, — 

But, whatever you do, hold on to 
the strings ! ) 

" Remember the rule of the Jehu- 
tribe is. 
Medio tutissimus ibis, 

As the Judge remarked to a 
rowdy Scotchman, 

Who was going to quod between 
two watchmen! 

So mind your eye, and spare your 
goad. 

Be shy of the stones, and keep in 
the road! " 

Now Phaethon, perched in the 

coachman's place. 
Drove off the steeds at a furious 

pace. 
Fast as coursers running a race. 
Or bounding along in a steeple- 
chase! 
Of whip and shout there was no 

lack, 
" Crack — whack — 
Whack — crack," 
Resounded along the horses' back ! 
Frightened beneath the stinging 

lash, 
Cutting their flanks in many a 

gash. 
On, on they sped as swift as a 

flash, 
Through thick and thin away they 

dash, 
(Such rapid driving is always 

rash ! ) 



272 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 



When all at once, with a dreadful 

crash, 
The whole "establishment" went 
to smash ! 
And Phaethon, he, 
As all agree, 
Off the coach was suddenly hurled, 
Into a puddle, and out of the 
world ! 

MORAL. 

Don't rashly take to dangerous 

courses, — 
Nor set it down in your table of 

forces, 
That any one man equals any four 
horses ! 
Don't swear by the Styx ! — 
It 's one of Old Nick's 
Diabolical tricks 
To get people into a regular " fix," 
And hold 'em there as fast as 
bricks ! 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 

A VERY remarkable history this is 
Of one Polyphemus and Captain 

Ulysses : 
The latter a hero, accomplished 

and bold. 
The former a knave, and a fright 

to behold, — 
A horrid big giant who lived in a 

den, 
And dined every day on a couple 

of men, 
Ate a woman for breakfast, and 

(dreadful to see!) 
Had a nice little baby served up 

with his tea; 
Indeed, if there 's truth in the 

sprightly narration 
Of Homer, a poet of some reputa- 
tion. 



Or Virgil, a writer but little infe. 
rior, 

And in some things, perhaps, the 
other's superior, — 

Polyphemus was truly a terrible 
creature, 

In manners and morals, in form 
and in feature ; 

For law and religion he cared not 
a copper, 

And, in short, led a life that was 
veiy improper: — 

What made him a very remark- 
able guy, 

Like the late Mr. Thompson, he 'd 
only one eye ; 

But that was a whopper, — a ter- 
rible one, — 

" As large " (Virgil says) " as the 
disk of the sun; " 

A brilliant, but rather extravagant 
figure. 

Which means, I suppose, that his 
eye was much bigger 

Than yours, — or even the orb of 
your sly 

Old bachelor-friend who 's "a 
wife in his eye." 

Ulysses, the hero 1 mentioned be- 
fore, 

Was shipwrecked, one day, on the 
pestilent shore 

Where the Cyclops resided, along 
with their chief, 

Polyphemus, the terrible man-eat- 
ing thief, 

Whose manners they copied, and 
laws they obeyed, 

While driving their horrible canni- 
bal trade. 



With many expressions of civil 
regret 

That Ulysses had got so unpleas- 
antly wet. 

With many expressions of pleasure 
profound 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 



273 



That all had escaped being thor- 
oughly drowned, 

The rascal declared he was " fond 
of the brave," 

And invited the strangers all home 
to his cave. 

Here the cannibal king, with as 

little remorse 
As an omnibus feels for the death 

of a horse. 
Seized, crushed, and devoured a 

brace of the Greeks, 
As a Welshman would swallow a 

couple of leeks, 
Or a Frenchman, supplied with 

his usual prog, 
Would punish the hams of a favor- 
ite frog. 
Dashed and smashed against the 

stones, 
He broke their bodies and cracked 

their bones, 
Minding no more their moans and 

groans 
Than the grinder heeds his organ's 

tones ! 
With purple gore the pavement 

swims, 
While the giant crushes their 

crackling limbs. 
And poor Ulysses trembles with 

fright 
At the horrid sound, and the hor- 
rid sight, — 
Trembles lest the monster gi'im 
Should make his "nuts and rai- 
sins " of him! 
And, really, since 
The man was a Prince, 
It 's not very odd that his Highness 

should wince 
(Especially after such very strong 

hints), 
At the cannibal's manner, as 

rather more free 
Than his Highness at court was 

accustomed to see ! 



But the crafty Greek, to the ty- 
rant's liurt 
(Though he didn't deserve so fine 

a dessert), 
Took a dozen of wine from his 

leather trunk, 
And plied the giant until he was 

drunk ! — 
Drunker than any one you or / 

know, 
Who buys his "Rhenish" with 

ready rhino, — 
Exceedingly drunk, — sepultus 

vino 1 



Gazing a moment upon the sleeper, 
Ulysses cried: "Let's spoil his 

peeper ! — 
'T will put him, my boys, in a 

pretty trim. 
If we can 'manage to douse his 

glim! " 
So, taking a spar that was lying 

in sight, 
They poked it into his "forward 

light," 
And gouged away with furious 

spite. 
Ramming and jamming with all 

their might ! 



In vain the giant began to roar, 
And even swore 
That he never before 

Had met, in his life, such a terri- 
ble bore. 

They only plied the auger the more, 

And mocked his gi'ief with a ban- 
tering cr3% 

"Don't babble of pain, — iTs all 
in your eye ! ' ' 

Until, alas for the wretched Cy- 
clops ! 

He gives a groan, and out his eye 
pops 1 



274 



ORPHEUS AND EUR YD ICE. 



Leaving the knave, one needn't 

be told, 
As blind as a puppy of three days 

old. 

The rest of the tale I can't tell 

now, — 
Except that Ulysses got out of the 

row, 
With the rest of his crew, — it 's no 

matter how ; 
While old Polyphemus, until he 

was dead, — 
Which was n't till many years 

after, 't is said, — 
Had a grief in his heart and a hole 

in his head ! 



Don't use strong drink, — pray let 

me advise, — 
It 's bad for the stomach, and ruins 

the eyes ; 
Don't impose upon sailors with 

land-lubber tricks, 
Or you '11 catch it some day like a 

thousand of bricks ! 



ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 

SiK Orpheus, whom the poets 
have sung 

In every metre and every tongue 

Was, you may remember, a famous 
musician, — 

At least for a youth in his pagan 
condition, — 

For historians tell he played on his 
shell 

From morning till night, so re- 
markably well 

That his music created a regular 
spell 



On trees and stones in forest and 

dell! 
What sort of an instrument his 

could be 
Is really more than is known to 

me, — 
For none of the books have told, 

d' ye see ! 
It 's very certain those heathen 

"swells" 
Knew nothing at all of oyster-shells, 
And it 's clear Sir Orpheus never 

could own a 
Shell like those they make in Cre- 
mona; 
But whatever it was, to "move 

the stones " 
It must have shelled out some 

powerful tones. 
And entitled the player to rank in 

my rhyme 
As the veiy Vieuxtemps of the very 

old lime ! 

But alas for the jovs of this mu- 
table life ! 

Sir Orpheus lost his beautiful 
wife, — 

Eurydice, — who vanished one day 

From Earth, in a very unpleasant 
way! 

It chanced, as near as I can deter- 
mine. 

Through one of those vertebrated 
vermin 

That lie in the grass so prettily 
curled, , 

Waiting to "snake" you out of 
the world ! 

And the poets tell she went to — 
well — 

A place where Greeks and Romans 
dwell 

After they burst their mortal shell; 

A region that in the deepest shade 
is, 

And known by the classical narae 
of Hades, — 



ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 



275 



A different place from the terrible 

furnace 
Of Tartarus, down below Avernus. 



Now, having a heart uncommon- 
ly stout, 

Sir Orpheus didn't go whining 
about, 

Nor marry another, as you would, 
no doubt, 

But made up his mind to fiddle her 
out! 

But near the gate he had to wait, 

For there in state old Cerberus sate. 

A three-headed dog, as cruel as 
Fate, 

Guarding the entrance early and 
late ; 

A beast so sagacious, and very 
voracious, 

So uncommonly sharp and ex- 
tremely rapacious, 

That it really may be doubted 
whether 

He'd have his match, should a 
common tether 

Unite three aldermen's heads to- 
gether ! 

But Orpheus, not in the least 
afraid, 

Tuned up his shell, and quickly 
essayed 

What could be done with a sere- 
nade. 

In short, so charming an air he 
played. 

He quite succeeded in overreaching 

The cunning cur, by musical teach- 
ing, 

And put him to sleep as fast as 
preaching ! 

And now our musical champion, 
Orpheus, 
Having given the janitor over to 
Morpheus, 



Went groping around among the 

ladies 
Who throng the dismal halls of 
Hades, 
Calling aloud 
To the shady crowd, 
In a voice as shrill as a martial fife, 
"0, tell me where in hell is my 

wife! " 
(A natural question, 'tis very plain, 
Although it may sound a little pro- 
fane.) 
' ' Eurj dice ! Eti-ryd-i-ce ! ' ' 
He cried as loud as loud could be, — 
(A singular sound, and funny 

withal. 

In a place where nobody rides at 

all!) 

' ' Eurydice ! — Eurydice I 

O, come, my dear, along with me I " 

And then he played so remarkably 

fine 
That it really might be called di- 
vine, — 
For who can show. 
On earth or below. 
Such wonderful feats in the musi- 
cal line V 



E'en Tantalus ceased from trying 

to sip 
The cup that flies from his arid lip; 
Ixion, too, the magic could feel. 
And, for a moment, blocked his 

wheel ; 
Poor Sisyphus, doomed to tumble 

and toss 
The notable stone that gathers no 

inoss, 
Let go his burden, and turned to 

hear 
The charming sounds that ravished 

his ear; 
And even the Furies, — those terri- 
ble shrews 
Whom no one before could ever 

amuse, — 



276 



JUPITER AND DANAE. 



Those strong-bodied ladies with 
strong-minded views 

Whom even'the Devil would doubt- 
less refuse, 

Were his ^lajesty only permitted 
to choose, — 

Each felt for a moment her nature 
desert her, 

And wept like a girl o'er the " Sor- 
rows of Werther." 

And still Sir Orpheus chanted 

his song. 
Sweet and clear and strong and 

long, 
" Eurydice ! — Eur\'-dice ! " 
He cried as loud as loud could be; 
And Echo, taking up the woi-d. 
Kept it up till the lady heard. 
And came with joy to meet her 

lord. 
And he led her along the infernal 

route, 
Until he had got her almost out. 
When, suddenly turning his head 

about 
(To take a peep at his wife, no 

doubt), 
He gave a groan. 
For the lady was gone. 
And had left him standing there 

all alone ! 
For by an oath the gods had bound 
Sir Orpheus not to look around 
Till he was clear of the sacred 

ground, 
If he 'd have Eurydice safe and 

sound ; 
For the moment he did an act so 

rash 
His wife Avould vanish as quick as 

a flash ! 



Young women ! beware, for good- 
ness' sake, 
Of every sort of ' ' sarpent snake ' ' ; 



Remember the rogue is apt to de- 
ceive, 

And played the deuce with Grand- 
mother Eve ! 

Young men! it's a critical thing 

to go 
Exactly right with a lady in tow ; 
But when you are in the proper 

track. 
Just go ahead, and never look back ! 



JUPITER AND DANAE: 



OR, HOW TO WIN A WOMAN. 

Imperial, Jove, who, with won- 
derful art. 
Was one of those suitors that 
always prevail, 
Once made an assault on so flinty a 
heart 
That he feared for a while he 
was destined to fail. 



A beautiful maiden, Miss Danae 
by name, 
The Olympian lover endeavored 
to win ; 
But she peeped from the casement 
whenever he came. 
Exclaiming, "You're hand- 
some, but cannot come in ! " 

With sweet adulation he tickled 
her ear; 
But still at her window she quiet- 
ly sat, 
And said, though his speeches 
were pleasant to hear, 
She 'd always been used to such 
homage as that ! 



VENUS AND VULCAN. 



277 



Then he spoke, in a fervid and 
rapturous strain, 
Of a bosom consuming with 
burning desire; 
But his eloquent pleading was 
wholly in vain, — 
She thought it imprudent to 
meddle with fire 1 



Then he begged her in mercy to 
pity his case, 
And spoke of his dreadfully 
painful condition ; 
But the lady replied, with a sor- 
rowful face. 
She was only a maiden, and not 
a physician ! 

In vain with these cunning conven- 
tional snares, 
To win her the gallant Lothario 
strove ; 
In spite of his smiles, and his tears, 
and his prayers. 
She couldn't, she wouldn't, be 
courted by Jove ! 

At last he contrived, — so the story 
is told, — 
By some means or other, one 
evening, to pour 
Plump into her apron a shower of 
gold. 
Which opened her heart, — and 
unbolted her door ! 



Hence suitors may learn that in 
matters of love 
'T is idle in manners or merit to 
trust; 
The only sure way is to imitate 
Jove, — 
Just open your purse, and come 
down with the dust. 



VENUS AND VULCAN: 

OR, THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 

When the peerless Aphrodite 
First appeared among her kin, 

What a flutter of excitement 
All the goddesses were in ! 

How the gods, in deep amazement. 
Bowed before the Queen of 
Beauty, 

And in loyal adoration 

Proffered each his humble duty ! 

Phoebus, first, to greet her coming, 
Met her with a grand oration; 

Mars, who ne'er before had 
trembled, 
Showed the plainest trepidation ! 

Hermes fairly lost his cunning. 
Gazing at the new Elysian ; 

Plutus quite forgot his monej- 
In the rapture of his vision ! 

Even Jove was deeply smitten 
(So the Grecian poets tell us). 

And, as might have been expected, 
Juno was extremely jealous ! 

Staid Minerva thought her silly; 

Chaste Diana called her vain; 
But not one of all the ladies 

Dared to say that she was 
"plain " ! 

Surely such a throng of lovers 
Never mortal yet coiild boast ; 

Everywhere throughout Olympus 
" Charming Venus ! " was the 
toast ! 

Even Vulcan, lame and ugly, 
Paid the dame his awkward 
court 5 



278 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 



But the goddess, in derision, ] 

Turned Iiis passion into sport ; 

Laughed aloud at all his pleading. 
Bade him wash his visage sooty, 

And go wooing with the Harpies, 
What had he to do with Beauty ? 

Well — how fared it with the god- 
dess ? 

Sure, the haughty queen of love, 
Choosing one to suit her fancy. 

Married Phoebus, Mars, or Jove ? 

No ! —at last — as often happens 
To coquettes of lower station — 

Venus found herself neglected. 
With a damaged reputation ; 

And esteeming any husband 
More desirable than none, 

She was glad to marry Vulcan 
As the best that could be done ! 

L' ENVOI. 

Hence you learn the real reason. 
Which your wonder oft arouses. 

Why so many handsome women 
Have such very ugly spouses ! 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 

A TRAVESTY. 

Perhaps, my dear boy, you may 
never have heard 

Of that wicked old monarch, King 
Richard the Third, — 

Whose actions were often extreme- 
ly absurd ; 



And who led such a sad life, 
Such a wanton and mad life ; 
Indeed, I may say, such a wretch- 
edly bad life, 
I suppose 1 am perfectly safe in 

declaring, 
There was ne'er such a monster of 

infamous daring. 
In all sorts of crime he was wholly 

unsparing ; 
In pride and ambition was quite 

beyond bearing; 
And had a bad habit of cursing 

and swearing. 
I must own, my dear boy, I have 

more than suspected 
The King's education was rather 

neglected ; 
And that at your school with any 

two " Dicks " 
Whom your excellent teacher diur- 

nally pricks 
In his neat little tables, in order to 

fix 
Each pupil's progression with nu- 
meral nicks. 
Master Richard Y. Gloster would 

often have heard 
His standing recorded as " Richard 

— the third!'' 
But whatever of learning his Maj- 
esty had, 
'T is clear the King's English was 
shockingly bad. 
At the slightest pretence 
Of disloyal offence. 
His anger exceeded all reason or 

sense ; 
And, having no need to foster or 

nurse it, he 
Would open his wrath, then, as if 

to disperse it, he 
Would scatter his curses like Col- 
lege degrees ; 
And, quite at his ease, 
Conferred his "(Z-(^'s," 
As plenty and cheap as a young 
University 1 



RICHARD OF G LUSTER. 



279 



And yQt Richard's tongue was re- 
markable smooth, 

Could utter a lie quite as easy as 
truth 

(Another bad habit he got in his 
youth), 

And had, on occasion, a powerful 
battery 

Of plausible phrases and eloquent 
flattery, 

Which gave him, my boy, in that 
barbarous day 

(Things are different now, I am 
happy to say). 

Over feminine hearts a most peril- 
ous sway. 

The women, in spite of an odious 
hump 

Which he wore on his back, all 
thought him a trump ; 

And just when he 'd played them 
the scurviest trick. 

They 'd swear in their hearts that 
this crooked old stick, — 

This treacherous, dangerous, disso- 
lute Dick, 

For honor and virtue beat Cato all 
hollow ; 

And in figure and face was another 
Apollo ! 



He murdered their brothers, 
And fathers and mothers ; 
And, worse than all that, he 

slaughtered by dozens 
His own royal uncles and nephews 

and cousins ; 
And then, in the cunningest sort 
of orations, 
In smooth conversations. 
And flattering ovations. 
Made love to the principal female 

relations ! 
"•T was very improper, my boy, 

you must know. 
For the son of a King to behave 
himself so ; 



And you '11 scarcely believe what 
the chronicles show 
Of his wonderful wooings. 
And infamous doings ; 
But here 's an exploit that he cer- 
tainly did do, — 
Killed his own cousin Ned, 
As he slept in his bed. 
And married, next day, the dis- 
consolate widow! 



I don't understand how such ogres 
arise. 

But beginning, perhaps, with 
things little in size, . 

Such as torturing beetles and blue- 
bottle-flies. 

Or scattering snuff in a poodle- 
dog's eyes, — 

King Eichard had grown so wan- 
tonly cruel. 

He minded a murder no moi'e than 
a duel; 

He 'd indulge, on the slightest pre- 
tence or occasion. 

In his favorite amusement of De- 
capitation, 
Until "Off with his head I" 
It is credibly said, 

From his Majesty's mouth came 
as easy and pat 

As from an old constable, " Off 
with his hat! " 
One really shivers, 
And fairly quivers. 

To think of the treatment of Grey 
and Rivei's 

And Hastings and Vaughn and 
other good livers, 

All suddenly sent, at the tap of a 
drum, 

From the Kingdom of England to 
Kingdom-Come ! 

Of Buckingham doomed to a tragi- 
cal end 

For being the tyrant's particular 
friend : 



280 



RICHARD OF GLQSTER. 



Of Clarence who died, it is mourn- 
ful to think, 

Of wine that he was n't permitted 
to drink; 

And the beautiful babies of royal 
blood, 

Two little White Roses both nipt in 
the bud ; 

And silly Queen Anne, — what 
sorrow it cost her 

(And served her right!) for daring 
to foster 

The impudent suit of this Richard 
of Gloster, 

Who, instead of conferring a royal 
gratuity, 

A. dower, or even a decent Anne- 
uity. 

Just gave her a portion of — some- 
thing or other 

That made her as quiet as Pha- 
raoh's mother! 

Ah Richard ! you 're going it quite 

too fast'; 
Your doom is slow, but it 's com- 
ing at last; 
Your bloody crown 
Will topple down, 
And you '11 be done uncommonly 
brown ! 
Your foes are thick, 
My daring Dick, 
And Richmond, a prince, and a 

regular brick, 
Is after you now with a very sharp 
stick ! 

On Bosworth field the armies to- 
night 

Are pitching their tents in each 
other's sight; 

And to-morrow ! to-morrow ! they 
're going to fight ! 

And now King Richard has gone 
to bed ; 
But e'en in his sleep 
He cannot keep 



The past or the future out of his 
head. 
In his deep remorse 
Each mangled corse 
Of all he had slain, — or, what was 

worse. 
Their ghosts, — came up in terri- 
ble force. 
And greeted his ear with unpleas- 
ant discourse, 
Until, with a scream, 
He woke from his dream, 
And shouted aloud for " another 
horse! " 

Perhaps you may think, my little 
dear. 

King Richard's request was rather 
queer; 

But I'll presently make it exceed- 
ingly clear: — 

The royal sleeper vtas over- 
fed! 

I mean to say that, against his 
habit. 
He 'd eaten Welsh-rabbit 

With very bad whiskey on going 
to bed. 

/'ve had the Night-Mare with hor- 
rible force. 

And much prefer a difierent horse ! 

But see! the murky night is 

gone ! 
The Morn is up, and the Fight is 

on! 
The Knights are engaging, the 

warfare is waging, 
On the right, on the left, the battle 

is raging; 
King Richard is down ! 
Will he save his crown ? 
There 's a crack in it now ! — he *s 

beginning to bleed ! 
Aha! King Richard has lost his 

steed ! 
(At a moment like this 'tis a ter- 
rible need!) 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



281 



He shouts uloud with thundering 

force, 
And offers a very high price for a 

horse, 
But it 's all in vain, — the battle is 

done, — 
The day is lost ! — and the day is 

won ! — , 

And Eichmond is King! and 

Richard's a corse ! 



Remember, my boy, that moral 
enormities 

Are apt to attend corporeal de- 
formities. 

Whatever you have, or whatever 
you lack. 

Beware of getting a crook in your 
back ; 

And, while you 're about it, I 'd 
very much rather 

You 'd grow tall and superb, i. e. 
copy your father ! 

Don't learn to be cruel, pray let 
me advise. 

By torturing beetles and blue- 
bottle-flies, 

Or scattering snuff in a poodle- 
dog's eyes. 

If you ever should marry, remem- 
ber to wed 

A handsome, plump, modest, 
sweet-spoken, well-bred. 

And sensible maiden of twenty, — 
instead 

Of a widow whose husband is re- 
cently dead ! 

If you 'd shun in your naps those 
horrible Incubi, 

Beware what you eat, and be care- 
ful what drink you buy ; 

Or else you may see, in your 
sleep's perturbations, 



Some old and uncommonly ugly 

relations. 
Who '11 be very apt to disturb your 

nutations 
By unpleasant allusions and rude 

observations ! 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 

Romances of late are so wretch- 
edly poor. 
Here goes for the old one : — Othel- 
lo, the Moor; 
A warrior of note, and by no means 
a boor, 
Though the skin on his face 
Was as black as the ace 
Of spades; or (a simile nearer the 

case) 
Say, black as the Deuce ; or black 

as a brace 
Of very black cats in a very dark 
place ! 
That 's the German idea; 
But how he could be a 
Regular negro don't seem very 
clear ; 
For Horace, you know, 
A great while ago, 
Put a sentiment forth which we all 

must agree to : 
" Hie niger est ; hunc tu, Romane, 

caveto! ^^ 
(A nigger 's a rascal that one ought 
to see to.) 
I rather, in sooth. 
Think it nearer the truth 
To take the opinion of young Mr 
Booth, 
Who makes his Othello 
A grim-looking fellow 
Of a color compounded of lamp- 
black and yellow. 



282 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



Now Captain Othello, a true son of 
Mars, 

The foe being vanquished, returned 
from the wars, 

All covered with ribbons, and 
garters, and stars. 

Not to mention a score of magnifi- 
cent scars ; 
And calling, one day, 
In a neighborly way, 

On Signor Brabantio, — one of the 
men 

Who figured in Venice as Senator 
then, — 
Was invited to tell 
Of all that befell 

Himself and his friends while 
campaigning so well, 

From the time of his boyhood till 
now he was grown 

The greatest of Captains that 

Venice had known. 

As a neighbor should do, 

He ran it quite through, 

(I would n't be bail it was all of it 
true, ) 

Eecounting, with ardor, such 
trophies and glories, 

Among Ottoman rebels and Cy- 
prian tories, 

Not omitting a parcel of cock-and- 
bull stories, — 

That he quite won the heart of the 
Senator's daughter, 

Who, like most of the sex, had a 
passion for slaughter: 
And was wondrously bold 
In battles, — as told 

By brilliant romancers, who pic- 
ture in gold 

What, in its own hue, you 'd be 
shocked to behold. 



Now Captain Othello, who never 

had known a 
Young lady so lovely as " Fair 

Desdemona," 



Not even his patroness, Madam 

Bellona, — 
Was delighted, one day, 
At hearing her say, 
Of all men in the world he 'd the 

charmingest way 
Of talking to women ; and if any 

one should, 
(Tho' she did n't imagine that any 

one would, — 
For where, to be sure, was another 

who could?) 
But if — and suppose — a lover 

came to her. 
And told her his story, 't would 

certainly woo her. 
With so lucid a hint. 
The dickens were in 't, 
If he could n't have read her as 

easy as print ; 
And thus came of course, — but as 

to the rest, — 
The billing and cooing I leave to 

be guessed, — 
And how, when their passion was 

fiiirly confessed, 
They sent for a parson to render 

them "blest," — 
Although it was done, I am sorry 

to say, 
In what Mrs. P. — had it happened 

to-day — 
Would be likely to call a clam- 



way 



I cannot recount 
One half the amount 

Of curses that burst from his car- 
diac fount 

When Signor Brabantio learned 
that the Moor 

Had married his daughter; " How 
dared he to woo her V 

The sooty-skinned knave, — thus 
to blight and undo her ? 

With what villanous potions the 
scoundrelly sinner 

Must have poisoned her senses in 
order to win her! " 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



283 



And more of the same, — 

But my language is lame, 

E'en a fishwoman's tongue were 

decidedly tame 
A tithe of the epithets even to 

name, 
Compounded of scorn and derision 

and hate, 
Which SignorBrabantio poured on 

the pate 
Of the beautiful girl's nigritudi- 

nous mate J 
I cannot delay 
To speak of the way 
The matter was settled ; suffice it 

to say 
'Twas exactly ths same as you 

see in a play, 
Where the lady persuades her 

affectionate sire 
That the fault was her own, — 

which softens his ire, 
And, though for a season extreme- 
ly annoj'ed, 
At last he approves — what he 

cannot avoid ! 



Philosophers tell us 
A mind like Othello's — 
Strong, manly, and brave — is n't 
apt to be jealous; 
But now, you must know. 
The Moor "had a foe, 
lago, by name, who concealed with 

a show 
Of honest behavior the wickedest 

heart 
That Satan e'er filled with his 
treacherous art, 
And who, as a friend, 
Was accustomed to lend 
His gifts to the most diabolical 

end. 
To wit, the destruction of Captain 

Othello, 
Desdemona, his wife, and an ex- 
cellent fellow, 



One Cassio, a soldier, — too apt to 

get mellow, — 
But as honest a man as ever broke 

bread, 
A bottle of wine, or an Ottoman 

head. 



'T is a very long story, 

And would certainly bore ye. 

Being not very brilliant with 
grandeur or glory, 

How the wicked lago contrived to 
abuse 

The gallant Othello respecting his 
views 
Of his fair lady's honor; 
Eeflecting upon her 

In damnable hints, and by frag- 
ments of news 

About palming and presents, him- 
self had invented. 

Until the poor husband was fairly 
demented, 

And railed at his wife, like a cow- 
ardly varlet, 

And gave her an epithet, — rhym- 
ing with scarlet. 

And prated of Cassio with virulent 
spleen. 

And called for a handkerchief 
some one had seen. 

And wanted to know what the 
deuce it could mean V 

And — to state the case honestly — 
really acted 

In the manner that women call 
" raving-distracted 1 " 



It is sad to record 
How her lunatic lord 
Spurned all explanation the dame 

could afford. 
And still kept repeating the odious 
word. 



284 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



So false, and so foul to a virtuous 

ear, 
That I could n't be tempted to 
mention it here. 
'T is sadder to tell 
Of the crime that befell, 
When, moved, it would seem, by 
the demons of hell. 
He seized a knife. 
And, kissing his wife. 
Extinguished the light of her inno- 
cent life ; 
And how, also, before the poor 

body was cooL; 
He found he had acted asvillany's 

tool. 
And died exclaiming, "0 fool! 
fool! fool! " 



MORAL. 

Young ladies! — beware of hasty 

connections; 
And don't marry suitors with 

swarthy complexions; 
For though they may chance to be 

capital fellows. 
Depend upon it, they 're apt to be 

jealous ! 

Young gentlemen ! pray recollect, 
if you can. 

To give a wide berth to a meddle- 
some man ; 

And horsewhip the knave who 
would poison your life 

By breeding distrust between you 
and your wife ! 



SONNETS 



SOI^I^ETS 



THREE LOVES. 



I HAVE known various loves of 
women. One 
Gave all her soul (she said), but 
kept intact 
Her marble lips, and ever seemed 
to shun 
Love's blandishments, as if his 
lightest act 
Were fatal to his life. Another 
gave 
All luxury of love that woman's 
art 
Could lend in aid of Beauty's 
kisses — save 
What she, alas ! had not — a 
loving heart. 
Poor, dear, dead flowers! One 
with no root in earth ; 
And one no breath of Heaven's 
sustaining air; 
No marvel briefly they survived 
their birth; 
And then my true-love came (0 
wondrous fair 
Beyond the twain!) whose soul 
and sense unite 
Li perfect bloom for Love's su- 
preme delight. 



MY QUEEN. 

I CALL her Queen — the lady of 
my love — 
Since that in all one sceptreless 

may claim 
Of true nobility to suit the 
name, 
She is right royal, — and doth so 

approve 
My loving homage. All that 
painter's art 
And poet's fantasy delight to 

find 
In queenliness is hers : the noble 
mind. 
The stately bearing, and the gra- 
cious heart; 
The voice most musical, the 

brow serene. 
And beaming benediction — like 
a queen ! 
And 0, such peerless beauty, that, 
I swear 
(Recalling each fair face that 
loud Renown 
Hath foiind, or feigned, beneath a 
jewelled crown) 
I flatter queens, to call her 
"queenly fair! " 



288 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 



"WITH MY BODY I THEE 
WORSHIP." 

Anglican Marriage Service, 

That I adore thee, my most gra- 
cious queen, 
More in my spirit than my 

body's sense 
Of thine, were such incredible 
pretence 
As I would scorn to utter. Thou 
hast seen 
When eyes and lips, responsive 
to the heart, 
Were bent in worship of thy lips 
and eyes, 
Until, bliss I each pleasure- 
pulsing part 
Hath found its fellow in Love's 
sweet emprize ; 
Each answering other in such 

eager wise 
As they would never cease to 
kiss and cling — 
Ah! then meseemed amid the 
storm of sighs 
I heard thy voice exclaiming, 
" O my King! 
So may my soul be ever true to 
thine. 
As with thy body thou dost 
worship mine I " 



PAN IMMORTAL. 

Who weeps the death of Pan? 

Pan is not dead, 
But loves the shepherds still;* still 

leads the fauns 
In merry dances o'er the grassy 

lawns, 



* Pan curat oves, oviumque magis- 
tros. — Virgil. 



To his own pipes ; as erst in Greece 

he led 
The sylvan games, what time the 
god pursued 
The beauteous Dryop^. The 

Naiads still 
Haunt the green marge of every 
mountain rill; 
The Dryads sport in every leafy 

wood; 
Pan cannot die till Nature's self 
decease ! 
Full oft the reverent worshipper 

descries 
His ruddy face and mischief- 
glancing eyes 
Beneath the branches of old forest- 
trees 
That tower remote from steps of 

worldly men. 
Or hears his laugh far echoing 
down the glen ! 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 



TO STELLA. 

All things of beauty are not theirs 
alone 
Who hold the fee ; but unto him 
no less 
Who can enjoy, than unto them 
who own, 
Are sweetest uses given to pos- 
sess. 
For Heaven is bountiful; and 
suffers none 
To make monopoly of aught 
that 's fair ; 
The breath of violets is not for one, 
Nor loveUness of women; all may 
share 



TO bPRING. 



289 



Who can discern 5 and He who 

made the law, 
"Thou shalt not covet j^' gave 

the subtile power 
By which, unsinning^ I may freely 

draw 
Beauty and fragrance from each 

perfect flowei 
That decks the waysiae, or adorns 

the lea, 
Or in my neighbor's garden blooms 

i.or ms *! 



BEEEAVEMENT, 



Nay, weep not, dearest, though 
the child be dead ; 
He lives again in Heaven's un- 
clouded life. 
With other angels that have early 
fled 
From these dark scenes of sor- 
row, sin, and strife. 
Nay, weep not, deai-est, though thy 
yearning love 
Would fondly keep for earth its 
fairest flowers, 
And e'en deny to brighter realms 
above 
The few that deck this dreary 
world of ours : 
though much it seems a wonder 
and a woe 
That one so loved should be so 
early lost. 
And hallowed tears may unforbid- 
den flow 
To mourn the blossom that we 
cherished most, 
5ret all is well; God's good design 

I see. 
That where our treasure is, our 
hearts mav be. 



TO MY WIFE ON HER BIRTH- 
DAY. 

What ! ty years ? — I never 

could have guessed it 
By any token writ upon your 

brow. 
Or other test of Time, — had you 
not now, 
Just to surprise me, foolishly con- 
fessed it. 
Well, on your word, of course, I 
must receive it ; 
Although (to say the truth) it is, 

indeed. 
As proselytes sometimes accept 
a creed, 
While in their hearts they really 

don't believe it! 
While all around is changed, no 
change appears. 
My darling Sophie, to these eyes 

of mine. 
In aught of thee that I have 
deemed divine. 
To mark the number of the van- 
ished years, — 
The kindly years that on that 

face of thine 
Have spent their life, and, " dy« 
ing, made no sign .' " 



TO SPRING. 

" VER PURPUREUM ! " — Violct- 

colored Spring 
Perhaps, good poet, in your ver- 
nal days 
The simple truth might justify 
the phrase ; 
But now, dear Virgil, there is no 
such thing ! 



290 



TO A CLAM. 



Perhaps, indeed, in your Italian 
clime, 
Where o'er the year, if fair re- 
port be true. 
Four seasons roll, instead of 
barely two, 

There still may be a verdant vernal 
time; 

But here, on these our chilly north- 
ern shores. 
Where April gleams with Janu- 
ary's snows, — 
Not e'en a violet buds ; and noth- 
ing " blows," 

Save blustering Boreas, — drear- 
iest of bores. 

verpurpureum ! where the Spring 
discloses 

Her brightest purple on our lips 
and noses ! 



THE VICTIM 

A Gallic bard the touching tale 
has told 
How once — the customary dow- 
er to save — 
A sordid sire his only daughter 
gave 
To a rich suitor, ugly, base, and 

old. 
The mother too (such mothers 
there have been) 
With equal pleasure heard the 

formal vow, 
" With all my worldly goods I 
thee endow," 
And gave the bargain an approving 

grin. 
Then, to the girl, who stood with 
drooping head. 
The pallid image of a wretch 

forlorn, 
Mourning the hapless hour when 
she was born, 



The Priest said, " Agnes, wilt thou 
this man wed?" 
*' Of this my marriage, holy 

man," said she, 
"Thou art the first to say a 
word to me! " 



TO . 

Thine is an ever-changing beauty; 
now 
With that proud look, so lofty 

yet serene 
In its high majesty, thou seem'st 
a queen. 
With all her diamonds blazing on 

her brow ! 
Anon I see — as gentler thoughts 
arise 
And mould thy features in their 

sweet control — 
The pure, white ray that lights a 
maiden's soul. 
And struggles outward through her 

drooping eyes. 
Anon they flash ; and now a golden 
light 
Bursts o'er thy beauty, like the 

Orient's glow, 
Bathing thy s'houlders' and thy 
bosom's snow. 
And all the woman beams upon my 
sight ! 
I kneel unto the queen, like 

knight of yore ; 
The maid I love ; the womac I 
adore ! 



TO A CLAM. 

Dum tacent clamant. 

Inglorious friend! most confi- 
dent I am 
Thy life is one of very little ease; 



SOMEWHERE. 



291 



Albeit men mock thee with their 
similes 
And prate of being "happy as a 

clam" ! 
What though thy shell protects thy 
fragile head 
From the sharp bailiffs of the 

briny sea ? 
Thy valves are, sure, no safety- 
valves to thee, 
While rakes are free to desecrate 

thy bed, 
And bear thee off, — as foemen 
take their spoil, — 
Far from thy friends and family 

to roam ; 
Forced, like a Hessian, from thy 
native home. 
To meet destruction in a foreign 
broil! 
Though thou art tender, yet thy 

humble bard 
Declares, clam! thy case is 
shocking hard ! 



THE PORTRAIT. 



A PRETTY picture hangs before 
my view; 
The face, in little, of a Southern 

dame. 
To me unknoAvn (though not 
unknown to fame) 
Save by the lines the cunning lim- 
ner drew. 
So grandly Grecian is the lady's 
head, 
I took her for Minerva in dis- 
guise ; 
But when I marked the winning 
lips and eyes, 
I thought of Aphrodite, in her 
stead; 



And then I kissed her calm, un- 
answering mouth 

(The picture 's mine) as an^ 
lover might. 

In the deep fervor of a nuptial 
night. 
And envied him who, in the 
"Sunny South," 

Calls her his own whose shadow 
can impart 

Such very sunshine to a North- 
ern heart ! 



SOMEWHERE. 



Somewhere — somewhere a 

happy clime there is, 
A land that knows not unavail- 
ing woes, 
Where all the clashing elements of 

this 
Discordant scene are hushed in 

deep repose. 
Somewhere — somewhere (ah me, 

that land to win ! ) 
Is some bright realm, beyond 

the farthest main. 
Where trees of Knowledge bear no 

fruit of sin. 
And buds of Pleasure blossom not 

in pain. 
Somewhere — somewhere an end 

of mortal strife 
With our immortal yearnings; 

nevermore 
The outer warring with the inner 

Hfe 
Till both are wretched. Ah, 

that happy shore ! 
Where shines for aye the soul's 

refulgent sun, 
And life is love, and love and joy 



292 



ABSENCE. 



CHANGE NOT LOSS. 

I DEEM to love and lose by love's 
decay- 
In either breast, or Fate's un- 
kindly cross, 
Is not, perforce, irreparable loss 
Unto the larger. There may come 
a day. 
Changing for precious gold 
Affection's dross, 
When the great heart that sorely 
sighed to say 
"Farewell!" unto the late-de- 
parted guest 
(The transient tenant of an idle 

breast) 
Shall, through the open portal, 
welcome there 
A worthier than he who barred 

the place 
Against the loitering lord, whose 
^ regal face 
And princely step proclaim the 
lawful heir 
Arrived — ah, happy day! — to 

fill the throne 
By royal right divine his very 
own! 



A LA PENSEE. 

Come to me, dearest! O, I can- 
not bear 
These barren words of worship 

that to each 
The other utters. In the finer 
speech 
Of soft caresses let our souls de- 
clare 
Their opulence of love ; for while 
instead 
We linger prattling, kind Occa- 
sion slips. 
Leaving to pensive sighs the 
pallid lips 



That else for pleasure had been 

ruby red. 
Thanks! darling, thanks! Ah, 
happier than a king 
In all beatitude of royal bliss 
Is he whose mouth (again! 
perfect kiss ! ) 
May thus unto thine own with 
rapture cling; 
For very joy of love content to 

live 
Unquestioning if Love have 
more to give ! 



ABSENCE. 

Absent from thee, beloved, I am 
pent 
In utter solitude, where'er I be; 
My wonted pleasures give me 
small content 
Wanting the highest, — to be 
shared by thee. 
Reading, — I deem I misemploy my 
eyes, 
Save in the sweet perusal of 
thine own ; 
Talking, — I mind me, with en- 
amoured sighs. 
What finer use my moving lips 
have known 
When (as some kind orchestral 
instrument 
Takes up the note the singer 
failed to reach) 
Uncounted kisses rapturously lent 
The finished meaning to my 
halting speech; 
Remembering this, I fondly yearn 

for thee, 
And cry, "0 Time! haste! bring 
my love to me! " 



AQUINAS AND THE BISHOP. 



293 



BIENVENUE. 

Thrice welcome day that ends 
the weary night 
Of love in absence. Hush, my 

thi-obbing heart ! 
I hear her step, — she comes ! 
who now can part 
The happy twain whose soul and 

sense unite V 
0, can it be? Is this no mocking 
dream ? 
Nay, by these clasping hands, 

that fervent kiss, 
(Honey of Hybla!) and by this, 
and this, 
I know thee for ray own. Ah! 
now I deem 
The gods grow envious of an 
earthly bliss 
That dims Elysian raptures, and I 
seem 
More blest than blest Endymion ; 
for he 
Saw not his love, while I, with 
doting eyes, 
j'oy ineffable ! do gaze on thee, 
Whose circling arms enclose my 
Paradise ! 



MISERERE. 

I THINK the pity of this earthly 
life 
Is love: So sighs a singer of 

the day. 
Whose pensive strain my sym- 
pathetic lay • 
Sadly prolongs. Alas! the end- 
less strife 
Of love's sweet law with cold con- 
vention's rules; 
The loving souls unloved; the 

perfect mate. 
After long years of yearning, 
found — too late I 



The treason of false friends; the 

frown of fools ; 
The fear that baffles bliss in 
beauty's arms; 
The weariness of absence; and 

the dread 
Of lover — or of love — untimely 
dead ! — 
Musing on these, and all the 
direful harms 
That hapless human hearts are 

doomed to prove, 
I think the pity of this life is 
love! 



AQUINAS AND THE BISHOP. 

Increase of worldly wealth is not 
alway 
With growth in grace in mani- 
fest accord ; 
So quaint Aquinas hinted to my 
lord 
The bishop, when, upon a certain 
day, 
Surprised while counting o'er 

his ample hoard 
Of shining ducats in a coffer 
stored. 
The prelate said, " The time, you * 
see, has gone 
When dear old Mother Church 
was forced to say, 
{Acts second) ' Gold and silver 
have I none! ' " 
*' Ah! " quoth Aquinas, shrewd- 
ly, "so I find; 
But that, your Grace, was in the 
purer age, 
The very same, be pleased to 
bear in mind. 
When with her foes brave battle 
she could wage. 
And say to sordid Satan, ' Get 
behind !' " 



EPIGRAMS 



EPIGRAMS 



THE EXPLANATION. 

Charles, discoursing rather freely 

Of the unimportant part 
Which (he said) our clever women 

Play in Science and in Art, 
" Ah ! — the sex you undervalue " ; 

Cried his lovely cousin Jane. 
' No, indeed ! " responded Charley, 

" Pray allow me to explain; 
Such a paragon is woman. 

That, you see, it must be true 
She is always vastly better 

Than the'bestthat she can do! " 



FAMILY QUARRELS. 

"A FOOL," said Jeanette, "is a 
creature I hate! " 
" But hating," quoth John, " is 
immoral ; 
Besides, my dear girl, it's a terri- 
ble fate 
To be found in a family quar- 
rel! 



TEACHING BY EXAMPLE. 

'What is the 'Poet's License,' 
say? " 
Asked rose-lipped Anna of a 
poet. 



" Now give me an example, pray, 
That when I see one I may know 
it." 
Quick as a flash he plants a kiss 

Where perfect kisses always fall. 
" Nay, sir ! Avhat liberty is this ? " 
" the PoeVs License, — that is 
aU!" 



A COMMON ALTERNATIVE. 

" Say, what 's to be done with this 

window, dear Jack ? 
The cold rushes through it at every 

crack." 
Quoth John: "I know little of 

carpenter-craft, 
But I think, my dear wife, joxx will 

have to go through 
The very same process that other 

folks do, — 
That is, you must list or submit 

to the draught ! " 



A PLAIN CASE. 

When Tutor Thompson goes to 

bed, 
That very moment, it is said. 
The cautious man puts out the 

light, 



298 ON A RECENT CLASSICAL CONTROVERSY. 

AN EQUIVOCAL APOLOGY. 



And draws the curtain snug and 

tight. 
You marvel much why this should 

be, 
But when his spouse you chance 

to see, 
What seemed before a puzzling 

case 
Is plain as — Mrs. Thompson's 

face! 



OVEE-CANDID. 

Bouncing Bess, discoursing free, 

Owned, with wondrous meek- 
ness. 
Just one fault (what could it be?) 

One peculiar weakness ; 
She in candor must confess 

Nature failed to send her 
Woman's usual tenderness 

Toward the other gender. 
Foolish Bessie ! — thus to tell ; 

Had she not confessed it, 
Not a man who knows her well 

Ever would have guessed it ! 



NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. 

" Here, wife," said Will, " I pray 

you devote 
Just half a minute to mend this 

coat, 
Which a nail has chanced to rend. ' ' 
"'Tis ten o'clock!" said his 

drowsy mate. 
" I know," said Will, " it is rather 

late; 
But 't is ' never too late to mend ' ! " 



Quoth Madam Bas-bleu, " I hear 
you have said 
Intellectual women are always 

your dread ; 
Now tell me, dear sir, is it true ? " 
" Why, yes," answered Tom, 

" very likely I may 
Have made the remark, in a jocu- 
lar way; 
But then, on my honor, I didn't 
mean you! " 



ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER. 

An idle attorney besought a 

brother 
For something to read, — some 

novel or other, 
That was really fresh and new. 
" Take Chitty ! '"' replied his legal 

friend, 
" There is n't a book that I could 

lend 
Would prove more novel to 

you! " 



ON A RECENT CLASSIC CON- 
TROVERSY. 

Nay, marvel not to see these 
scholars fight, 
In brave disdain of certain scath 
and scar; 
'T is but the genuine old Hellenio 
spite, — 
'* When Greek meets Greek, 



then cornea the tug of war I 



CONJURGIUM NON CONJUGIUM. 



299 



ANOTHER. 

Quoth David to Daniel, " Why is 
it these scholars 
Abuse one another whenever 
they speak? " 
Quoth Daniel to David, '"It nat'- 
rally follers 
Folks come to hard words if 
they meddle with ^reek ! " 



LUCUS A NON. 

You'll oft find in books, rather 
ancient than recent, 

A gap in the page marked with 
" cetera desimt,''^ 

By which you may commonly take 
it for granted 

The passage is wanting without 
being wanted ; 

And may borrow, besides, a sig- 
nificant hint 

That desunt means simply not 
decent to print ! 



A CANDID CANDIDATE. 19 

When John was contending 
(though sure to be beat) 

In the annual race for the Govern- 
or's seat. 

And a crusty old fellow remarked, 
to his face. 

He was clearly too young for so 
lofty a place, — 

"Perhaps so," said John; "but 
consider a minute; 

The objection will cease by the 
tlroe I am in it! " 



NEMO REPENTE TURPISSI- 

MUS. 



Bob Sawyer to a man of law 

Repeating once the Roman saw, 
" Nemo repente — " and the rest. 
Was answered thus: " Well, I pro- 
test, 
However classic your quotation, 
I do not see the application." 
" 'T is plain enough," responded 

Sawyer: 
"It takes three years to make a 
lawyer! " 



TOO CANDID BY HALF. 

As Tom and his wife were dis- 
coursing one day 
Of their several faults, in a ban- 
tering way. 
Said she : " Though my ivit you 
disparage, 
I 'm sure, my dear husband, our 

friends will attest 
This much, at the least, that my 
judgment is best." 
Quoth Tom, " So they said at 
our marriage! " 



CONJURGIUM NON CONJU- 
GIUM. 

Dick leads, it is known, with his 
vixenish wife, 

In spite of their vows, such a tur- 
bulent life. 

The social relation of Dick and his 
mate 

Should surely be written The Con- 
jurgal State ! 



300 



THE LOST CHARACTER. 



CHEAP ENOUGH. 

They 've a saying in Italy, pointed 

and terse, 
That a pretty girl's smiles are the 

tears of the purse ; 
"What matter?" says Charley. 

" Can diamonds be cheap '? 
Let lovers be happy, though purses 

should weep! " 



ON AN UGLY PERSON SIT- 
TING FOR A DAGUERREO- 
TYPE. 

Here Nature in her glass — the 
wanton elf — 

Sits gravely making faces at her- 
self; 

And, while she scans each clumsy 
feature o'er, 

Repeats the blunders that she made 
before ! 



ON A FAMOUS WATER-SUIT. 

My wonder is really boundless, 
That among the queer cases we 
try, 
A land-case should often be ground- 
less. 
And a water-case always be dry ! 



KISSING CASUISTRY. 

When Sarah Jane, the moral Miss, 
Declares 't is very wrong to kiss, 



I '11 bet a shilling I see through it; 
The damsel, fairly understood, 
Feels just as any Christian 

should, — 
She 'd rather suffer wrong than 

do it\ 



TO A POETICAL CORRE- 
SPONDENT. 

Rose hints she is n't one of those 
Who have the gift of writing prose: 
But poetry is une autre chose, 
And quite an easy thing to Rose ! 
As if an artist should decline. 
For lack of skill, to paint a sign, 
But, try him in the landscapeline, 
You '11 find his genius quite divine ! 



ON A LONG-WINDED ORA- 
TOR. 

Three Parts compose a proper 
speech 

(So wise Quintilian's maxims 
teach), 

But Loquax never can get through, 

In his orations, more than two. 

He doesn't stick at the "Begin- 
ning"; 

His "Middle" comes as sure as 
sinning; 

Indeed, the whole one might com- 
mend, 

Could he contrive to make an 
''Endr' 



THE LOST CHARACTER. 

Julia is much concerned, God wot. 
For the good name — she hasn't 
got; 



THE THREE WIVES. 



301 



So mortgagors are often known 
To guard the soil they deem their 

own, 
As if, forsooth, they didn't know 
The land was forfeit long ago ! 



A DILEMMA. 

" Whenever I marry," says mas- 
culine Ann, 

"I must reaUy insist upon wedding 
a man ! ' ' 

But what if the man (for men are 
but human) 

Should be equally nice about wed- 
ding a woman f 



THE THREE WIVES. 

A JUBILATION. 

My First was a lady whose domi- 
nant passion " 

Was thorough devotion to parties 
and fasliion; 

My Second, regardless of conjugal 
duty, 

Was only the worse for her won- 
derful beauty ; 

My Third was a vixen in temper 
and life. 

Without one essential to make a 
good wife. 

Jvhilate ! at last in my freedom I 
revel. 

For I 'm clear of the World, an(i 
the Flesh, and the Devil ! 



KOTES. 



l^OTES 



Note i. Page 46. 

The tale of" Miralda " is based on a popular legend, of which an excellent prose 
Tersion may be found in Ballou's History of Cuba. 

Note 2. Page 50. 

This piece is an imitation of a poem by Praed, entitled "My Partner." There 
are two other pieces in this collection, which, in deference to certain critics, I 
ought to mention as imitations of the same author. There is, indeed, a resem- 
blance, in the form of the stanza and in the antithetic style of treatment, to sev- 
eral poems of Praed ; but as both the metre and the method are of ancient date, 
and are fairly the property of whomsoever may employ them, no further acknowl- 
edgment seem necessary than that which is contained in this note. The same 
remark will apply to " The proud Miss MacBride," which is written in the meas- 
ure, and (longo intervallo) after the manner, of Hood's incomparable "Golden 
Legend." 

Note 3. Page 88. 

" Potter, the Great Magician," —a clever conjurer of a former generation, — is 
still vividly remembered by many people in New Hampshire and Vermont. 

Note 4. Page 118. 

The first stanza of this poem I must credit to a fragment of an anonymous Ger- 
man song, which I found afloat in some newspaper. The remaining stanzas are 
built upon the suggestion of the first. 



Note 5. Page 146. 

If my version of " The Ugly Aunt " is more simple in plot than the prose story 
in the " Norske Folke-eventer," it certainly gains something in refinement by the 
variation. 

Note 6. Page 158. 

I 'm aware this dainty version 
Is n't quite the thing to go forth 



306 NOTES. 



For the Grecian's ' ' suggenesthaW'' 
" Ep oikemritos,^' and so forth ; 

But propriety 's a virtue 
I 'm always bound to show forth. 



Note 7. Page 162. 



The tradition of the "Wandering .Jew is very old and popular in every country of 
Europe, and is the theme of many romances in prose and verse. The old Spanish 
writers make the narrative as diabolical and revolting as possible ; while the French 
and Flemish authors soften the legend (as in the present ballad) into a pathetic 
story of sin, suffering, and genuine repentance. 

Note 8. Page 176. • 

This story is found in many modern languages. In the present version, the 
traveller is a Frenchman in Holland ; in another, he is an Englishman in France •, 
and in a third, a Welshman in some foreign country. The Welsh story (a poem, 
©f which an anonymous correspondent has sent me a translation) is perhaps the 
best ; though it is impossible to say which is the oldest. 

Note 9. Page 236. 

" To show, for once, that Dutchmen are not dulV 

Fere Bouhours seriously asked " if a German could be a bel esprit.'''' This con- 
cise question was answered by Kramer, in a ponderous work entitled VindicuB 
nominis GermaniccB. 

Note 10. Page 240. * 

" Tn closest girdle, O reluctant Muse, 
In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping shoes." 

Imitated from the opening couplet of Holmes's " Terpsichore," — 

" In narrowest girdle, O reluctant Muse, 
In closest frock., and Cinderella shoes.'''' 

Note 11. Page 240. 

" ' She stoops to conquer ^ in a ' Grecian curve.'' " 

Terence, who wrote comedies a little more than two thousand years ago, thus 
alludes to this and a kindred custom then prevalent among the Roman girls : — 

" Virgines, quas matres student 
Demissis himieris esse, vincto corpore, ut graciles fiant." 

The sense of the passage may be given in English, with sufilcient accuracy, 
thus : — 

Maidens, whom fond, maternal care has gracpd 
With stooping shoulders, and a cinctured waist. 



NOTES. 307 

Note 12. Page 242. 

" Their tujnid tropes for simple ' Buncombe ' made.'''' 

Mauy readers, who have heard about " making speeches for Buncombe," may 
not be aware that the phrase originated as follows : A member of Congress from 
the county of Buncombe, North Carolina, while pronouncing a magniloquent set- 
speech , was interrupted by a remark from the Chair, that " the seats were quite 
vacant." "Never mind, never mind," rephed the orator, "I'm talking for 
Buncombe! " 

Note 13. Page 243. 

" Till rising high in rancorous debate, 
And higher still in fierce, envenomed hate.^^ 

" Sed jurgia prima sonare 
Incipiunt animis ardentibus ; ha^c tuba rixae ; 
Dein clamore pari concurritur, et vice teli 
Ssevit nuda manus." — Juv. Sat. xv. 

Note 14. Page 245. 

" Not uninvited to her task she came.'" 

This poem was written at the instance of the Associated Alumni of Middlebury 
College, and spoken before that Society, July 22, 1846. 

Note 15. Page 245. 

" No singer's trick, — conveniently to bring 
, A sudden cough when importuned to sing.'''' 

The capriciousness of musical folk, here alluded to, is by no means peculiar to 
our times. A little before the Christian era, Horace had occasion to scold the 
Roman singers for the same fault : 

" Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus, inter amicos, 
Ut nunquam inducant animum cantare rogati ; 
Injussi nunquam desistant." — Sat. iii. 

Note 16. Page 257. 

" And hush the wail of Peter Plymley''s ghost.'''' 

Rev. Sydney Smith, the English author and wit, latelv deceased, who, having 
speculated in Pennsylvania Bonds to the damage of his estate, berated "the ras- 
cally repudiators " with much spirit, and lamented his losses in many excellent 
jests. 

Note 17. Page 258. 

" Unfriendly hills no longer interpose 
As stubborn loalls to geographic foeSy 
Nor envious streams run only to divide 
The hearts of brethren ranged on either side. 



308 NOTES. 

" Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
Abiior each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations, who had else 
Like kindred drops been mingled into one." 

Cowper. 

Note 18. Page 259. 

" Aristophanes, whose humor run 
In vain endeavor to 6e-' cloud ' the sun.'''' 

An allusion to the comedy of" The Clouds/' written in ridicule of Socrates, 



Note 19. Page 299. 
An anecdote of the gubernatorial canvass in Vermoct in the year 
Let those laugh who — lose ! 



THE END. 




„L'BRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 871 597 1 



